


IE WAKE OF THE 

IN TWELVERS 

N1DER '^ 




Class _ELii 



Book 






PRESENTED BY 



IN THE WAKE OF THE 
EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 



ETTSfeo 
5 6G 



J I 



THE ANCHOR PHE8S, LTD., TIPTREE, ESSEX 






TO THE TRUE HELPMEET WHO MADE IT 

POSSIBLE THIS BOOK IS GRATEFULLY 

DEDICATED 



Bow Wave 

FIVE brimming basins, measured by the 
hundred mile, plumbed by the hun- 
dred fathom, pass down the clear 
cold waters of eastern North America to 
the mighty arms of the St. Lawrence. He 
in turn bears them to the all-receiving sea. 

These are the Great Lakes — Superior, 
Michigan, Huron, Erie and Ontario. They 
are connected by smaller lakes, by rivers, by 
straits. Cataracts which once prevented in- 
tercourse between Ontario and Erie, between 
Huron and Superior, have been conquered 
by canals. The five brimming basins give 
direct access from the Atlantic Ocean to the 
heart of the continent. Forty million people 
live in the states of the American Union and 
the province of the Dominion of Canada for 
which the lakes are a frontier highway. Ten- 
thousand-ton monsters of steel traverse the 
mighty watercourse, bearing a commerce 
six times as great as that which passes Suez. 
The international highway is as much devoted 

vii 



BOW WAVE 

to the purposes of peace as Broadwa}' or the 
Strand. 

But a hundred years ago, pike and cutlass 
heroes who fought the Battle of the Baltic 
and triumphed at Trafalgar, the same pig- 
tailed bluejackets who fill the pages of 
Marryat with glee and glory, these same dare- 
devil tars ploughed the Great Lakes with 
plentiful furrows. They locked yardarms 
and gave broadside for broadside with the 
Tom Coffins and Barnstaplcs of Fenimore 
Cooper's fancy. Despite the cataracts which 
then isolated Ontario and Superior the Great 
Lakes were, even in those days, the highway 
to the heart ol North America. With no 
railways and few roads hewn through the 
wilderness the waterways of the continent were 
the all-important means of communication. 
Thus it came that in the three-year struggle 
between Great Britain and the United States, 
known as the War of 1812, these inland seas 
were the scene of continuous conflict. 

In the earlier stages of the war the ships 
which fought the fresh water fights were often 
cockleshells of fore-and-aft rig — cutters, sloops 
and schooners which had been converted from 
the peaceful pursuits of lake commerce to the 
purposes of war. Even the largest craft were 
less formidable than the salt water vessels 

viii 



BOW WAVE 

classed at that time as " sloops-of-vvar "— a 
rating below that of frigates. The rapids 
of the St. Lawrence prevented the ascent to 
the lakes of vessels of the regular navies of 
both nations, but their crews were marched 
up by sparing handfuls to man such craft as 
could be bought or built to float guns. Ere 
the war closed Ontario, lowest of the five 
Great Lakes, floated frigates more powerful 
than any on the ocean, and boasted line-of- 
battleships rivalling Nelson's Victory. Fol- 
lowing the treaty of Ghent, which closed the 
war, came a mutual and wise disarmament 
agreement, which, taking effect in 1818, 
banished battle from the Great Lakes for a 
hundred years ; let us hope, forever. But 
ere the warships went, they left a rocket trail 
of glory, more brilliant, if less enduring, than 
the paler paths of peace. 

This is a story book. It is not a history 
of all that occurred in the last war on the Great 
Lakes. That would be a large contract. 
But it tries to tell truly things which hap- 
pened during the war ; in such a way as to 
give some idea of the part fresh water played 
in a conflict which was only a detail in the 
wars of an empire, but a detail affecting the 
destinies of a continent. 

Lake Champlain is not one of the Great 

ix 



BOW WAVE 

Lakes. It is a side-reservoir, feeding the 
St. Lawrence by the Richelieu river. Although 
apart from the main fresh water highway in 
the War of 1812, Champlain floated battle 
craft of the same style as the greater lakes. 
These were manned by seamen who also 
fought on the St. Lawrence and Lake Ontario. 
Pring, of the fighting Linnet, was one of Yeo's 
captains at the second attack on Sackett's 
Harbour. Downie himself was commander 
of the Montreal on Lake Ontario before hoist- 
ing his pennant over the fatal flagship Con- 
fiance. The tragedy at Plattsburg on Lake 
Champlain is not a grateful topic for a British 
writer, but it is not one which may be fairly 
passed over in an account of the fresh water 
fighting of the war. The pious valour of 
young Macdonough, the American champion 
in that fray, and the bulldog bravery of the 
goaded Downie, alike challenge the admira- 
tion of the world. 

The tales here told come from the logs and 
letters of the captains and commodores whose 
broad-pennants waved from Kingston to 
Michillimackinac a century ago. The dry 
bones of record have been clothed with the 
flesh and blood of fancy, but from the price of 
pork to the colour of fighting flags the ancient 
chronicles have been faithfully followed. The 



BOW WAVE 

men and the ships named here are the men 
and the ships named there, and what befell 
them i=5 told as there recorded. Only in 
the why of things falling as they did has 
imagination been allowed any play ; and then 
only when the records have been dumb. 

Some of these tales are now printed for 
the first time. The story of the escape of 
the Slippery Six, the taking of Oswego, the 
tragedy of Plattsburg, the Battle of Lake 
Erie, the capture of York — these, or parts of 
them, have appeared in serial form in the 
Canadian Collier's Weekly. 

There too have been printed some of the 
relations of Malachi Malone. They are used 
by kind permission of P. F. Collier and Son. 
Malachi's tale of the miracle which followed 
the name of Brock, and the adventures of the 
captain's gig which went glove-hunting have 
appeared in Maclean's Magazine, and take 
their place with their fellow-stories through 
the courtesy of Lieut. -Col. J. B. Maclean. 
And while upon the pleasant duty of making 
acknowledgments, may the writer be per- 
mitted to express a heartfelt debt of gratitude 
to the " Landmarks of Toronto," and their 
author, John Ross Robertson. The Land- 
marks and their illustrations have developed 
into the magnificent collection of Canadian 

xi 



BOW WAVE 

historical pictures in the Toronto Public 
Library which is such an educational asset 
for the people of Toronto. The many volumes 
of Landmarks — six to date — are a Golden 
Treasury of history and romance, prized alike 
by the student and man of affairs, even as 
the historian, philanthropist and journalist 
who collected them is dear to the people of 
his country and city, and dearest of all to 
suffering little children. 

Toronto, 1913. 



Xll 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

i. AN ANCHOR IN A GRAVE 
YARD 

THE MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 
OF A TRADING SKIPPER AS THE 
CENTURY CLOCK WAS STRIKING I 

ii. WHEN CHAUNCEY CAME TO 
KINGSTON 

HOW THE ROYAL GEORGE WAS 
CHASED BY THE WATER-SPIDERS, 
AND THE SIMCOE RAN THE 
GAUNTLET, AND A DEAD HERO'S 
NAME PROVED A PASSPORT FOR 
HIS SWORD - - 19 

in. THE BURLINGTON RACES 

A DRAWN BATTLE ON LAKE ON- 
TARIO in 1813 - - " 39 

iv. THE NIAGARA SWEEP- 
STAKES 

NINETEEN SHIPS PLAY HIDE-AND- 
SEEK UPON AN INLAND SEA - 55 

xiii 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

v. THE ESCAPE OF THE 
" SLIPPERY SIX " 

A SEQUEL TO THE BURLINGTON- 
RACES LEFT UNTOLD BY THE 
ANCIENT YARNER - - 79 

vi. THE BOY COMMANDER AND 
THE WIDOW 

WHY THE BATTLE OF LAKE ERIE, 
OTHERWISE KNOWN AS THE 
BATTLE OF PUT-IN BAY, WAS 
LOST AND WON - - " 9 1 

vii. A RESURRECTION ON THE 
SHORES OF GRAVEYARD 
POND - - - 115 

viii. HOW WE TOOK OSWEGO 

WHEN THE LARGEST AMERICAN 
PORT ON LAKE ONTARIO TO-DAY 
FELL INTO BRITISH HANDS - 131 

ix. THE CAPTAIN'S GIG GOES 

GLOVE-HUNTING - - 147 

x. YARNS O' YORK 

BEING AN ACCOUNT OF THE 

MARVELLOUS REAPPEARANCE 

OF MALACHI MALONE UPON 

A CENTENARY-EVE IN THE 

SECOND CITY OF CANADA - l6l 

xiv 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

xi. APPLES OF ASHES 

GIVING SOME OF THE REASONS WHY 
THE TAKING OF TORONTO WAS 
NOT A FAMOUS AMERICAN VIC- 
TORY - 183 

xii. CHAMPIONS OF CHAMPLAIN 

THE BITTEREST CHAPTER OF 
ALL FRESH WATER FIGHTING — 
THE BATTLE OF PLATTSBURG, 
SEPTEMBER II, 1814 - - 205 

xiii. THE SPOILING OF THE 

SPOILERS - - - 225 

xiv. THE SILENT ST. LA WRENCE 

STORY OF THE SHIP WHICH ENDED 
THE WAR WITHOUT FIRING A 
SHOT - 263 



xv 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO FACE I'A' i- 

THE " ROYAL GEORGE ' AND THE WATER- 
SPIDERS. — " Our three-master came 
bowling down with her sails so full 
of shot-holes they looked like a cook's 
colander. On her track crept like 
water-spiders, five Yankee schooners, 
with long sweeps through their 
ports " - - Frontispiece 

NORTH-EAST CORNER OF LAKE ONTARIO. — 

Scene of much hard fighting and hard 
sailing in 1812-14 - - 22 

ONE OF THE ROUND STORE MARTELLO 
TOWERS GUARDING THE HARBOUR OF 
KINGSTON, ONTARIO - - 26 

the"simcoe" RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. — 
" Richardson squared her away before 
the wind and drove straight for Seven- 
Acre Shoal" - - 30 

THE "PIKE" AND THE "WOLFE " COM- 
MENCING the action. — From a print 
in the Toronto Public Library, issued 
in 1813. The picture appears in an 
excellent account of the Lake Ontario 
navies of the War of 181 2, written by 

xvii 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

to *'acl riu^ 

Mr. Barlow Cumberland for the 
Ontario Historical Society's valuable 
collection - - - - 48 

LAKE ONTARIO AND SOME OF THE FUR- 
ROWS THE WAR FLEETS PLOUGHED IN 
l8l3 ----- 70 

SCENE OF THE NAVAL OPERATIONS OF 
l8 J 3 WHICH CULMINATED IN THE 
BATTLE OF PUT-IN-BAY - - IOO 

THE ANCIENT HULK ON THE BEACH OF 

misery bay. — Starboard side of the 
" Niagara," showing the remaining 
strakes of her planking and the iron 
gudgeon-traps of her sternpost. The 
hulk is canted to port at an angle of 
forty-five degrees. Not more than 
one-third of the original body of the 
brig is left - - - - 116 

A GLIMPSE INSIDE THE " NIAGARA " AS 

raised. — Showing the knees that took 
up the strain of the fore-rigging, also 
a gun-port and peep-hole. The old 
ship's close-packed ribs show in the 
space where her deck has been torn 
away. The planking shown is the 
ceiling, or inner lining of pine - 120 

STARBOARD QUARTER OF THE "NIAGARA." 

Note the warty appearance of hei 
planking where the acid of the spikes 
has preserved the oak - - 122 

xviii 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO FACE PAGE 

a section of the u Niagara's" side. — 
Showing the gun-ports and, between 
them, one of the much-debated peep- 
holes. The wrecking pontoons are 
shown in the foreground - 124 

LOOKING ACROSS THE " NIAGARA'S " HEAD 
TOWARDS GRAVEYARD POND THROUGH 

one of the gun-ports. — The means 
of raising her and holding her together 
— beams, chains and tackles — are 
apparent - - - - 126 

the old " stone frigate." — Still stand- 
ing on the shores of Navy Bay, Kings- 
ton, Ontario, and now occupied by 
the cadets of the Royal Military 
College. It was shore quarters for 
the sailors of 1812-1815 - - 136 

map showing the shore voyage of a 
ship's boat - - - 1 54 

" the captain's gig goes glove hunt- 
ING." — " The moon, heaving up from 
behind Buffalo like an aerial fireship, 
showed the " Porcupine," under sails 
and sweeps, fleeing for the safety of 
the lake, while the " Ohio " and 
" Somers " stood down the river to- 
wards Frenchman's Creek, their 
canvas mastheaded by British 
sailors " 158 

xix 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO FACF. PAfiF. 

THE INVADING FLEET ANCHORING OFF THE 
DEFENCES OF YORK (nOW Toronto), 

April 27, 1813 - - - 162 

YORK (TORONTO) GARRISON IN 1813. 

(From a water-colour in the J. Ross 
Robertson collection of Canadian 
Historical Pictures, Toronto Public 
Library - - - - 164 

GUNS THAT GUARD THE GARRISON GATE, 

OLD FORT, TORONTO, ONTARIO - 1 74 

WHERE THE INVADERS LANDED — ONE 

HUNDRED YEARS AFTERWARDS - IQO 

SOUTHERN BASTION OF THE GARRISON 

CAPTURED BY THE AMERICANS - 1 92 

THE PASSING OF PIKE - - 1 94 

MAP SHOWING THE ROUTE TAKEN BY 
DOWNIE'S FLEET AND THE PLACE OF 
BATTLE - - - - 2IO 

CLIFF HAVEN, LAKE CHAMPLAIN. — In the 

distance, Crab Island, from which 
the Hospital patients fired upon the 
attacking fleet - - - 218 

THE BATTLE OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN THE 

"CONFIANCE" STRIKING HER COLOURS. 

From a picture by II. Reinagle in 

the Chateau de Ramesay, Montreal 222 

the " nancy." — From a drawing in the 
John Ross Robertson collection of 
Canadian Historical Pictures. Toronto 
Public Library - - - 226 

XX 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO FACE PARK 

REMAINS OF THE u SCORPION," I9I3, IN 
COLBORNE BASIN, PENETANGUISHENE 
HARBOUR, ONTARIO - - - 260 

RESTING PLACE OF THE " ST. LAWRENCE " 

IN THE HARBOUR OF KINGSTON, ONT. 264 

HARBOUR OF KINGSTON, ONTARIO, IQI3 272 

STEM AND FORE-FRONT OF THE TWENTY- 
TWO GUN BRIG "JEFFERSON." — One of 

the forty-day marvels of the speedy 
builder, Henry Eckford. She was 
launched April 2, 1814, and is now 
sunk in Sackett's Harbour, opposite 
Shiphouse Point - - - 274 

SACKETT'S HARBOUR AND THE DIS- 
MANTLED AMERICAN WARFLEET, 1815. 

The " Shiphouse," which gave its 
name to the point and for years pro- 
tected the battleship " New Orleans," 
is shown in the distance - - 288 

BATTLESHIP " NEW ORLEANS," BEGUN 
AT SACKETT'S HARBOUR, DECEMBER, 
1814 ----- 29O 



XXI 



IN THE WAKE OF THE 
EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 



IN THE WAKE OF THE 
EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

I 

An Anchor in a Graveyard 

THE MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM OF A TRAD- 
ING SKIPPER AS THE CENTURY CLOCK WAS 
STRIKING 

OUR riding light burned dim and blue 
in the fog, though 'twas a good 
bright lantern, hung ten feet above 
the topgallant forecastle. The shadows of 
the schooner's spars and gear made thick, 
whirling, spoke-like rays of darkness in the 
smothering white as she rolled and plunged. 
You couldn't see the water heaving and 
sobbing below us. We were bound down 
Lake Ontario for Kingston, from Cleveland 
on Lake Erie, and had anchored somewhere 
on the Niagara Shoal, when the wind left us 
and the fog set in at sundown. 

It was my watch on deck from midnight 
till four o'clock. That is to say, the mate 

I B 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

and his two men turned in then, and my two 
Luis came shuffling aft from the forecastle, 
drowsy as opium smokers. I had been up 
all night before, thrashing down Lake Erie, 
and had been at the wheel all day, making 
the passage of the Welland Canal. The lads 
were dog-tired with the day's canalling, and 
I sent them below again at " one belt " — half 
an hour after midnight. A sleepy lookout 
is worse than none and they were so heavy- 
eyed they could not answer their own names. 
Besides, one was only a Port Hope high-school 
boy, working in his holidays to pay his 
winter's board. I myself was tired and 
sleepy too — " dopey," in fact — but a master 
has to keep awake. 

Our ship's bell was a small affair, and 
clattered foolishly as she dived and rolled in 
the long uneasy swell. I un>hipped the 
tongue, and slung an iron windlass-brake 
from the fore-boom, so that with every 
roll it struck the capstan head, giving a deep 
clang that echoed back through the fog. It 
the best way we had of warning steamers 
of our presen< 

Very faint and very far away, the bell- 
buoy "li the mouth of the Niagara river 
answered the i Lang of the windlass-brake with 
a mournful toll. The bell-ringing, the 



AN ANCHOR IN A GRAVEYARD 

sobbing and scuffling of the uneasy water along- 
side, and the occasional grind of the anchor 
chain in the hawsepipe, were the only sounds 
of the night except the clatter of the brake. 

I trudged slowly forward and aft, forward 
and aft, staring into the blind fog until my 
eyes cracked, varying the dreary view with 
an occasional glance through the binnacle 
slot at the cracked, comfortable, yellow face 
of the cabin clock. If you look hard enough 
into a fog or the blackness of a dark night, 
or even the clean crisp line of a sun-swept 
horizon, you can see almost anything ; the 
brain throws before your eyes a false image 
of what you expect to see. I have noticed 
that time and again when making a landfall. 
I have known good lookout men to hail the 
deck and report headlands or lighthouses 
hours before they hove above the horizon 
— just because they were looking for them. 
But this that I saw and heard, after noting 
twenty minutes past one on the cabin clock, 
is not accounted for that way. 

I turned suddenly from a peep through the 
binnacle slot because I thought I heard 
a sound like very distant thunder. The fog 
smothered and blinded me like some great 
mass of gauze thrown over my head, but 
again I heard or felt the sound. 

3 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

" They must be firing rockets at the mouth 
of the Niagara river," I thought, " to guide 
some fog-bound passenger steamer in." 

And yet somehow the thudding reports 
seemed scarcely to be that. They were too 
irregular, sometimes clustered as it were, 
sometimes single ; and though very faint, 
they seemed to jar the thick, steaming air with 
concussions. They ceased abruptly, and 
again all I could hear was the gasping, 
gurgling struggle of the water alongside, the 
faint toll of the bell buoy, the grind of the 
anchor chain, and the clang of our windlass- 
brake. 

" Those reports," thought I—" why, a 
long-range fleet action must have sounded 
like that in the old days." As the thought 
took words unconsciously, as thoughts will 
when one is alone, I sniffed something odd in 
the fog — a faint, pungent, smoky smell, like 
gunpowder. 

" Here, this won't do ! " I told myself. 
" You think of broadsides and then smell 
powder smoke. Wake up ! 

I walked to the scuttle butt, dipped a 
mug of water, and drank it to freshen my 
brain. 

Then, distinct from the resonance of the 
windlass-brake or the toll of the buoy, I 

4 



AN ANCHOR IN A GRAVEYARD 

heard the faint tinkle as of "three bells" 
striking — ding-ding ! ding ! — half past one. 
We had no automatic striker aboard the 
schooner. The sound was repeated, blurred 
and faint, as though we were in the midst of 
an unseen fleet. 

Looking up from my drink, I saw something 
which brought my heart to my mouth. 
Abeam of us was a vessel— a full-rigged ship, 
under all sail, with studding-sails out. My 
first impulse was to call all hands, but I 
choked down the cry. This was no ordinary 
one of the ships that pass in the night. She 
was square-rigged on all three masts ; and 
the last square-rigger vanished from the lakes 
when I was sailing toy boats in puddles. She 
had " single " topsails, that is, they were 
each in one great square of canvas, a rig 
which became obsolete fifty years ago. She 
had a spritsail, swinging from the bowsprit, 
a sail that has not been seen for a century, 
and her side was broken by a long line of 
open ports. 

But what convinced me above all that this 
was some trick of my brain and not a real 
vessel was the way she seemed to be sailing 
in the sky, making good progress in a breeze 
so light that we had lost steerage way. As I 
said, the water, even alongside, was invisible ; 

5 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

but she seemed to be floating in the air, above 
the horizon. Another thing which proved 
her unreal was the very clearness of every 
detail in a fog which smothered out sight of 
our own crosstrees. She radiated a light 
which illuminated her without casting a 
shadow. At each port a brightness — perhaps 
a gunner's match— was glowing. Great horn 
lanterns pulsed like rising moons at each 
corner of the taffrail that ended her short 
high poop. Other lanterns, strung fore and 
aft, lighted up crowds of men, clustered 
around the guns, thronging the gangways, 
manning the yards and fighting-tops. 

I could see, as plainly as in summer twi- 
light, the colours of her Stars and Stripes, 
rippling in a fresh breeze, at her mizzen gaff 
end, and a long, twisted streamer, blowing 
off from her main-truck. And I could see 
coloured signal lights, blue and white and 
red, rise and sink on invisible halliards. 

She swept by, but a thin black, curved, line 
vibrated in her place, and moved in the 
direction she had passed, and in a moment 
there showed at the end of it, a squat little 
schooner, with an enormous cannon amid- 
ships and spars which raked till the main- 
truck overhung the taffrail. 

I was more interested than startled by 

6 



AN ANCHOR IN A GRAVEYARD 

what I was seeing. I had a curious feeling of 
toleration for the whim of my brain which 
had conjured up such a vision. I continued 
staring. At a short interval there loomed 
another old-style full-rigged ship, with deep 
wide-shouldered topsails, and battle lanterns 
ablaze at gunports ; and she had a schooner 
in tow like the first. And then there came a 
brig, and then more schooners, with raking 
spars, which went out of use years and years 
ago. They all passed within ten minutes, 
at a quarter-mile distance, each illumined by 
the strange inner light which made them plain 
amid the blinding fog. As each vessel drew 
abreast she put up her helm and wore around 
on to the other tack, as if in obedience to the 
signal lights of the flagship. The changed 
course brought them back across my line of 
vision, but further away. 

I was so absorbed in the illusion that I 
was keeping as bad a lookout as any of my 
sleepy watch could have done. Pulling myself 
together I resolutely turned my back on the 
phantom fleet and stared over the opposite 
side. I saw the fog, of course, and more. 
The reason for the manoeuvre was quite plain. 
Another line of vessels was approaching. 

The leader was, I should judge, a ship of 
about the same size as the first one I had 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

seen — perhaps a hundred tons smaller. She 
had a high sheer aft, and a light-coloured 
underbody. I counted twelve gunports in 
her side. She too had the obsolete single 
topsails, but, unlike the American flagship, 
no royals. I noted particularly a large long- 
boat on chocks in the waist. Her figurehead 
was a soldier in uniform, and there was a red 
ensign flaming from her mizzen peak. I 
thought our naval ensign was always white, 
with a red cross quartering it, and the jack 
in the corner ; but hers was red, blood red. 

Another ship, of smaller size, followed her. 
A lion and a unicorn, and the blue ellipse of 
the Order of the Garter, were emblazoned 
between her yawning sternports. Then 
there passed two brigs, and two schooners ; 
larger, these last, than most of the Yankee 
fore-and-afters, and higher sided, with longer 
rows of grinning guns. And all Hew the red 
flag. 

I watched the spectacle fade into the fog 
with that twinge of regret which we ex- 
perience on awakening from a curious dream. 
I walked quietly again to the water cask, 
chuckling to myself at the mildness of the 
beverage which had produced such an ex- 
perience. Yet as I again drained the dipper 
I began to feel an uneasiness that I, a plain 

8 



AN ANCHOR IN A GRAVEYARD 

vessel captain, should be a prey to such 
fancies. 

" It must have been a mirage," I began to 
tell myself. 

Turning again from the scuttle-butt I saw 
something which brought the sweat to my 
brow. Ahead of us was a vessel — apparently 
right athwart our cable. I ran forward to 
call all hands, believing a collision inevitable ; 
but when I reached the forecastle I paused, 
rooted to the deck. The strange vessel was 
then exactly the same distance away as when 
I had been at the opposite end of our ship, 
about fifty yards from me ; but she was high 
up, as if floating in water as high as our bow- 
sprit end, and that was thirty feet above the 
real water level. 

I had seen many mirages on the lakes, but 
never before one by night or in a fog. The 
shadow ship seemed a small two-masted 
schooner of a hundred tons or so. She throb- 
bed with a dull blue glare as of continuous 
lightning, which made it easier to note her 
details than our own, in the thick fog. Her 
spars raked sharply, her sails were loose-footed. 
The foresail appeared to brail up to the mast, 
and she had a square topsail and top-gallant- 
sail ; a rig which had disappeared on the 
Great Lakes when I was a youngster. Her 

9 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

freeboard was low, except at the quarters, 
where her deck rose with a sharp break. Her 
bulwarks were pierced with ports from which 
grinned cannon, and other larger guns showed 
on pivots on deck. 

I knew there was nothing there ahead of us, 
nothing but fog. My cheeks were hot with 
the shame of realizing that I was the victim 
of the trick of an over-wrought mind and body. 
But I felt a certain satisfaction in that I had 
not turned out the watch. I could imagine 
them leaning against the bulwarks, spitting 
into the fog overside, and muttering about the 
" old man " and how he was " getting them," 
" them " being delirium tremens. 

I glanced aft into the blank fog, and then 
turned about for a look forward, fully a>sured 
that the phantasy of my eyes would have 
vanished. But the illusion schooner was 
exactly where I had last seen her. She s< <-med 
under weigh, but did not pass by. Her decks 
were covered with men — scores of them, at 

si and they were all scurrying about in 
great confusion, pulling and hauling on the 
gear and lashing the guns into position. They 
were shortening her down for heavy weather. 
Her top hamper was clewed in, her foresail 
brailed, the tack of the mainsail triced up, 
when they seemed to change their minds 

10 



AN ANCHOR IN A GRAVEYARD 

They began to make sail again, until every 
stitch was spread. Suddenly she heeled till 
her yardarms brushed the water, or where 
her waterline should have been. 

It was at this moment, and had been for 
hours, a stark calm ; but she acted exactly 
like a vessel hove down by a sudden over- 
whelming gust of wind. For a moment she 
hung on her beam-ends — then her hull van- 
ished and her spars slowly straightened up, 
and I knew I was seeing a representation of a 
vessel foundering. She went down by the 
stern, but ere the mastheads disappeared 
she gave a lurch forward which threw aloft, 
like a tongue of blue flame, a long burgee 
or pennant. For an instant I watched the 
letters S-C-O-U-R-G-E as they disappeared, 
one after the other. Then my ears were 
smitten with a thin, faint wailing, the worst 
sound they had ever heard — the death cries 
of half a hundred human beings, perishing 
under my very eyes. 

I beat my head, I shouted to myself : " It 
isn't real, it isn't real ! It's a dream, a vision, 
a nightmare ! " but I dared not look any 
longer. Wheeling about I stared aft along 
our own solid, fog-drenched decks — and there 
right in front of me, was being enacted the very 
tragedy upon which I had just turned my back. 

ii 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

No further away than the end of our fore- 
boom I saw the steep-sloped deck of a vessel, 

hove down in a squall. A swarm of men were 
climbing and clawing up to the weather rail. 
Some had reached it, and were slashing at the 
rigging with knives and axes, to save her by 
letting the masts go by the board. Others 
slipped, grabbed wildly at the hatchcoamings, 
and disappeared. Four cannon on the weather 
side had settled back on their lashings wnh 
the ship's incline, and as my glance fell on them 
their tackles parted and they swept down the 
steep slide of the deck. Two of them disap- 
peared, carrying a dozen men with them ; the 
other two fetched up against a huge swivel 
gun, located amidships. The great heap of 
iron gun-barrels and lignum-vitae carriages 
poised for a moment, then whirled over, with 
a rending i >f deckplanks and smashing of hatch- 
coamings, and pitched overboard or <>ut of 
sight ; and at once the slanting deck in front 
of me began to settle and vanish, as though 
invisible waves were swirling through the rent 
made by the crashing guns. 

Swiftly it disappeared utterly, leaving a 
tangled mass of human heads and arms, 
fighting rabidly for hatch-covers, deck-grat- 
ings, bits of board, even rope ends. And the 
voices ! The awful voices ' Not one separate 



AN ANCHOR IN A GRAVEYARD 

word came through the dreadful babel ; but 
shouts and prayers and curses and implorings 
were all mingled with the gasping coughs a 
man gives, fighting death in the water, and 
the smothered gurgle of the drowning victim's 
surrender. 

The memory of the terrible distinctness of 
those sounds will never leave me ; yet, 
although apparently uttered at a few yards' 
distance, they were all keyed down, like words 
over a telephone ; and through all I could 
hear the commonplace clang of our windlass- 
brake, the toll of the Niagara bell-buoy, the 
slap and scuffle of the actual water alongside ; 
just as, past the vision of the sinking deck, I 
could see our main and mizzen masts loom in 
the fog, and mark the faint halo of our lighted 
cabin. 

I admit I was frightened, thoroughly, 
abjectly scared. I pounded furiously on the 
fore-scuttle, unable to speak. 

" Aye, aye, sir," I heard sleepy voices rumble 
below, and then the tousled heads of my 
watch poked out. 

" Hear anything, lads ? " I asked sharply. 

" Not me," said one. 

" Seems," answered the other with a terrible 
yawn, " as if I — yes, it is. I can hear coween, 
sir. Dang them gulls, they wail at night like 

13 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

lost souls. Coween, that's what it is, sir. 
Mebbe our windlass-brake has wakened a 
flock of 'em, asleep on the water." 

I looked sideways, forward and aft. The 
visions had gone. The sailors had seen 
nothing. 

" Well, keep a good lookout, boys, and call 
me if you see or hear anything," I managed 
to say, and walked aft, limp as a wrung rag. 

I tramped the quarter deck without ceasing 
for two hours, grateful as a starving man for 
food for the snatches of grumpy forecastle 
slang I could catch from the lads forward. 
They were human, and alive. At "eight bells " 
(four o'clock) I called the mate and his watch. 
The fog was thinning. I told him to get sail 
on her if it cleared, and heave short as soon 
as the breeze came. Then I thing myself, 
face downward, on my berth. 

I expected a prolonged agony of trying to 
get to sleep would be followed by a series of 
terrible nightmares, but I dropped ofi as 
though drugged, and knew nothing until, 
nearly four hours later, the mate tapped on 
my door and said, " ' Seven bells/ >'n, and we're 
hove short. Wait for breakfast before break- 
ing out ? " 

I sprang to my feet. The little stateroom 
was tilled with bright sunshine. Through the 



AN ANCHOR IN A GRAVEYARD 

port-light I saw the lake sparkling in crisp 
ridges of blue and green and gold. Looking 
along the deck I noted our lower sails were 
up and slatting and banging at their sheets 
in a cheerful westerly breeze. 

" Break out first," I answered. " A fair 
wind's not to be wasted." 

In the galley the cook's bacon and eggs 
sizzled joyously, and the aroma of coffee 
rose. Everything made a glad midsummer 
morning. 

Like a flash came to me my visions of 
capsizing and foundering, but no phantasm 
could stand such bright sunlight, and the 
merry clink-clank of the windlass-pauls, 
while a sleep-freshened crew chantied : 

" High-ho up she rises ! 
High, high, up she rises ! 
Weigh-heigh, up she rises ! 
Early in the morning." 

" Anchor's a-peak ! Anchor's awash ! "re- 
ported the mate. " Now lads, jib halliards, 
and get her going, then hook on the burton 
and cathead our ground -tackle ! " 

The schooner went off smartly as soon as 
the headsails were sheeted home — I at the 
wheel, the crew busy getting the anchor 
aboard. 

" Our hook must have fouled something," 

15 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

I heard one of the men say. ' Picked up a 
plank or the like." 

As the anchor flukes were lifted clear of the 
rail a curved board showed, locked across 
from one to the other, between the arms and 
the shank. It was weedy and black from 
long submersion. 

" Looks like a trail-board off one o' them 
old-style billet-heads," said the mate, hauling 
it in. " We must have been anchored on a 
wreck. Yes, there's letters cut in it ; it's 
an old-style nameboard." 

He began scraping off the moss with one 
of the wedge-shaped spikes which fell from 
the plank. 

" You'll find the first letter's S," I called 
to him from the wheel stand, a sudden idea 
possessing me. 

" Wrong, sir," he hailed back. " It's 
N— N-O-T-L-I-M— Oh, I'm scraping it from 
the wrong end. It's Hamilton, sir. Ever hear 
of a vessel called the Hamilton being lost ? ' 

" Not in my time," I answered. ' Mightn't 
it be her port of hail ? " 

"Not likely, from the shape of the board," 
said he. 

" Oh, sir," shouted the high-school lad, 
running aft, " isn't this the eighth of August, 



i9 J 3 r 



16 



AN ANCHOR IN A GRAVEYARD 

" Sure," I answered, rather nettled at his 
leaving his work, " and it'll be the ninth of 
next century before you get any breakfast 
if that anchor's not stowed ou the chocks 
smartly." 

" Why, sir," the youngster went on apolo- 
getically, " on the eighth of August, 1813, two 
vessels of the American Commodore Chauncey's 
fleet were capsized and sunk in a heavy squall 
while trying to escape from the British in an 
engagement off the Niagara river. I've read 
it in a history of the War of 1812, only this 
spring. And one of them was called the 
Hamilton ! " 

" What was the other one ? " I asked. 

" The Scourge," he answered. " They 
foundered at two o'clock in the morning, 
and out of a hundred men aboard only six- 
teen were saved. And to think of us anchor- 
ing on top of them and bringing up their old 
planking a century later, on the very day ! 
Can you beat it ? " 

" Yes," I said, quietly. But I was very 
glad " eight bells " and the breakfast call 
saved me from telling him how. 



17 



II 

When Chauncey came to Kingston 

HOW THE ROYAL GEORGE WAS CHASED BY THE 
WATER-SPIDERS, AND THE SIMCOE RAN THE 
GAUNTLET, AND A DEAD HERO'S NAME PROVED 
A PASSPORT FOR HIS SWORD 

WITH pipes aglow and hair still sleek 
from the evening wash-up the 
Albacore's crowd, lookouts and 
" watch-below " alike, were all clustered on 
the forecastle-head. 

It was that good time in every lake schooner 
— the second dog-watch in fine weather, the 
last half hour of summer sunlight, before 
" eight bells " ushers in the first night-watch. 
Tis a time to " loaf and invite one's soul." 
The boys in the Albacore knew how to do 
that. In fact, the skipper said they all 
classed Ai at Lloyds in that regard. Just 
now, in the sweet, final flame of the level sun, 
they grouped like neophytes around Malachi 
Malone, their high priest of the tale that is told. 

19 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

Malachi on the city street looked a dis- 
reputable old wreck ; but here, in his proper 
setting, he looked what he often said he was — 
the last man alive who'd choked on powder 
smoke in the War of 1812 on the Great Lakes. 

It was not necessary to urge Malachi to 
yarn. He'd do it if he so willed, were he 
alone at the wheel in a gale of wind. If he 
wouldn't, he wouldn't, and coaxing availed 
not. This evening his messmates had seen 
the old signal light aglow under the white 
thatching of his solitary eyebrow, and settled 
themselves comfortably, on paul-posts and 
windlass-bitt, to listen. 

Malachi had either been through the ex- 
periences he related, or he was a good reader 
of history and a good ' rememberer." In 
any event, he never fell into the pitfall of 
less expert yarn spinners, telling differing 
stories of the same thing. He made no secret 
of the fact that he had, as he called it, " some 
education." His speech was homely and he 
was careless about using a singular verb for 
a plural subject. But he seldom forgot his 
final g's in his participles, which, after all, is 
a fair indication that he had attended other 
schools than the rude one of fresh water fore- 
castles. 

Not good to look upon was Malachi. He 

20 



WHEN CHAUNCEY CAME TO KINGSTON 

might almost have been called monstrous. 
A long, lean frame of a man, with shoulders 
that would have been broad if they had not 
been so high, and back that once had been 
mighty but was bent in an ungainly hump. 
He was very, very old. His grey beard, 
grown only on his chin, left the wide upper 
lip and high cheekbones fiercely prominent. 
His one good eye seemed enormous. The 
socket of the other was a puckered red scar. 
His nose was battered, and the lower half of 
his right ear was missing. His appearance 
repulsed yet fascinated, as a finger cut, or a 
catfish, frightens and fascinates children. 

To those who knew him his deformities 
and uglinesses seemed a necessary and not 
inharmonious part of the whole, like the 
gargoyles of a venerable cathedral. Fore- 
castle tradition told of the half century in 
which he had been the terror of every ship's 
company and sailors' tavern, from Dickenson's 
Landing to Skillagalee, the wildest drinker and 
fiercest fighter of all the hard-working, hard- 
fighting, hard-drinking crews of the carrying 
trade in the days when sail was supreme on the 
Great Lakes. 

It was to waterfront brawls that his mutila- 
tions were credited. He would never tell of 
them, having pasted down those pages of 

21 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

his life-book. But of earlier days, as powder 
boy in the fighting fleets of 1812, he was fond 
of yarning in his Leisure time. This was 
usually ample, for the old man's strength was 
fading out with his century, and he got a place 
for his dunnage bag in the forecastle solely 
through his skill as a knotter and splicer and 
his knowledge of shoals and soundings. 

That he was as old as his tales made out 
many doubted. He was age-worn, but his 
manner of speech was far from senile. Some 
suspected him of having made shipwreck of 
a career in some of the learned professions 
before going to sea ; but his reputation as a 
fighter, passed down from a previous genera- 
tion of lake sailors, protected him from the 
inquisitive in his declining years, and he was 
usually welcome to spin his yam without 
interruptions other than those which indicated 
friendly interest. 

This happened/' began the ancient Cy- 
clops, ' when I was a kid playing hookey 
'round the docks in Kingston, first year of the 
war. Kingston was quite a place in them 
days, the biggest in Upper Canada, with forts 
.Hid a garris< in and a navy yard. 

' Queenston Heights was over. Every- 
body said the Yanks had got enough then to 
last them till the peace was declared. You 

39 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

their backs at the big oars. After them 
lumbered the brig Oneida, the flagship of 
Commodore Isaac Chauncey that year. The 
George stood in and anchored under the bat- 
teries, and the schooners hove to off Snake 
Island shoal outside the harbour and waited 
for their flagship. 

" Farmers came swarming in with all their 
worldly goods in wains an' ox-carts. The 
Yanks had terrified 'em all along the Quinte 
shore. Thev had landed at Ernestown. Their 
biggest schooner, the Hamilton — the one that 
drowned all hands next year off Niagara — 
she hung behind while the others chased the 
George. She caught a harmless little trading 
schooner at the Ernestown wharf, stripped 
her of her sails and gear, and set fire to her. 
Poor old Cap'n Conn, he stood there on the 
shore, wringing his hands, while all he owned 
went up in smoke. War's no picnic for the 
losers, believe me, boys. 

" On in the afternoon the Yankee fleet 
off the Snake hoisted brand new battleflags 
at every masthead and closed in. The 
Oneida had a battery of sixteen twenty-four- 
pounders, guns as heavy as the George s, and 
almost as many. She was backed by the 
gun-schooners Chauncey made famous — little 
water-waggons, each top-heavy with a long 

-i 



WHEN CHAUNCEY CAME TO KINGSTON 

thirty-two-pounder amidships and smaller 
guns at the sides. They was no good in a 
seaway, but wicked at long range in smooth 
water. They lay just beyond reach of the 
George s carronades and pelted her with round- 
shot till the blood ran from her scuppers. 
Four times soldiers from the fort was sent 
out to reinforce the spent gun-crews, and all 
the time the George s shot was just making 
holes in the air and water. Some fetched the 
Oneida, for she had to close in, but the 
schooners went scot-free, all but one. This 
was the little Pert. Her gun burst at the third 
shot, and the George got in a few good ones 
at her before she hauled off ; but in the end 
they had to slip the George's cable and warp 
her in to the Garrison pier, where the Yanks 
could only get her by boarding. 

" It looked as though they'd try that, for 
by this time they'd been reinforced by their 
schooner Governor Tompkins, which had spent 
the day running down a Kingston-bound 
Niagara vessel, the Mary Hall. But as the 
sun sank it began to breeze up hard from the 
sou'-west, right into the mouth of the harbour. 
If we could 'a just winged one vessel then 
she'd 'a been ours, for the wind would 'a 
driven her right ashore once she was crippled. 
Chauncey was a wise old bird. He knew the 

25 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Oneida sailed sideways like a crab, going to 
wind'ard, and some of the others wasn't much 
better ; so he hauled off while there was time, 
and thrashed up to the lee of Four-Mile Point, 
away across the harbour, and came to an' 
anchor there. 

" Boys, it was a great sight to see that fleet, 
black-winged like bats against the red-striped 
western sky, beating across that stretch o' 
snapping whitecaps to the lee of the point. 
On the way the Pert lost her commander. 
Arundel was his name. Poor chap, he had 
his ribs caved in with a piece of the breech- 
block, when her gun burst. He wouldn't 
go below, and after waiting two hours on 
deck, through the bombardment, he tried 
to sail her up to her moorings. He was 
propped against the taffrail, and the mainsheet 
caught him when she went in stays and whisked 
him overboard. Years and years afterwards 
I heard that, from the man who was at the 
Pert's wheel " 

" Eight bells ! ' came the call from the 
quarter deck. " Eight bells ! ' echoed the 
forecastle-head. " Eight bells ! ' repeated 
the skipper. " Call the watch and set the 
sidelights ! Wheel-relief ! Malachi, it's your 
trick ! " And so the yam snapped in the 
middle. 

26 




I 



WHEN CHAUNCEY CAME TO KINGSTON 

" By-the-wind," rumbled the shell-back 
whose trick was up. 

" By-the-wind," repeated Malachi Malone, 
after the immemorial shipboard custom, as 
he took his place on the wheel-grating. The 
course is ever given and accepted thus when 
steersmen change. 

This was one of the times when nothing 
but lightning could have permanently inter- 
rupted Malachi Malone, and he took up his 
parable of 1812 just where he had left off. 
His watch sidled as far aft as they dared, and 
the good-natured skipper, knowing a yarn was 
toward, raised no objections to the intrusion 
on the sacred quarter deck. They're not so 
brass-bound on fresh water as they are on salt. 

" There was no sleep for anybody in King- 
ston, that night of the ninth of November," 
Malachi went on, speaking principally to the 
binnacle. " Watchfires roared along the 
water-front in the gale that blew, and men, 
women and children huddled around them and 
stared at the tossing anchor-lights of the 
Yankee fleet, far across the wind-whipped 
water. The word was passed that the town 
would be sacked by morning light ; but old 
sailors said Chauncey'd never come any 
closer'n Four-Mile Point while the wind held 
from the west'ard, and they was right. 

27 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

" Daylight showed the Yankee fleet thrash- 
ing out for the open. Lake Ontario was run- 
ning like a raging river, in grey-green combers. 
Their fluffy white tops blew off in smoke as 
they rose. Chauncey crowded every stitch 
on to his slab-sided old brig, and back an' 
forth, back an' forth across the narrow channel 
she sidled. She buried her lee-deck till her 
gun-muzzles was in the water, and hove up her 
weather side till we could almost see her 
grass-grown keel. She gained but a few 
fathoms every time she made a tack. But 
he thrashed her out, and his schooners fol- 
lowed him, threatening to roll their guns over- 
board or down the hatches all the while. 
The Mary Hall, the prize they'd taken, 
couldn't beat out. So they squared her away 
before the wind, with one of their schooners, 
the Growler, for company, and ran down past 
Kingston Harbour, and anchored under the 
lee of Long Island. The game was to coax 
the Royal George from the shelter of the bat- 
teries, in an attempt to recapture the prize. 
But the George had all hands busy driving 
shot-plugs and tricing boarding-nettings mast- 
head high, and wasn't to be lured to leeward 
of the shore guns for all the flour-laden Mary 
Halls that ever floated. 

" Then out past the foot of Amherst 

28 



WHEN CHAUNCEY CAME TO KINGSTON 

Island, up to the west'ard of the harbour, 
poked another set of heads'ls. It was the 
little schooner Simcoe, running for shelter 
from the westerly gale, inward bound from 
York, and knowing nothing o' what waited 
her. Old Jim Richardson sailed her, father 
o' the Richardson as was in the Moira, and 
lost an arm at Oswego, and wound up as a 
Methody bishop afore he died. When the 
Simcoe saw the American fleet thrashing out 
she hauled her wind and tried to shoot in 
over Amherst Bar, but three of Chauncey's 
schooners, the Julia, the Tompkins, and the 
Hamilton, fore-reached on her and cut her 
off ; so Richardson squared her away before 
the wind and drove straight for Seven Acre 
Shoal, that lay 'twixt him and Kingston 
Harbour. 'Tween the puffs of smoke from 
the Yankee guns we could see the leadsmen 
in the forechains, and almost hear 'em singing 
out : ' By the deep nine ! By the mark five ! 
A quarter less four ! ' and so on as the water 
shoaled. It fell from fathoms to feet, and 
still Richardson drove on. The Hamilton, 
leading the chasers, smelt the bottom at 
nine foot depth, and put her helm down ; so 
did the others, glad of the chance to haul off 
with whole keels ; and as they tacked for 
the lake again they all together let drive a 

29 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

broadside that made the water boil around 
the flying Simcoe. She had just scraped 
clear o' the reef and was running wing-and- 
wing for the anchorage. Everybody but old 
Richardson dived below when they saw the 
smoke of the broadside. He stuck to the 
wheel. But his crew popped up as fast as 
they'd ducked down, yelling, ' Captain, she's 
filling ! ' 

" Only the last one of the thirty-two- 
pound shot had struck her, but it was at 
close range, and it went in through her star- 
board quarter and came out under her bows. 
She went down like a broken bottle. Old 
Richardson fired the only musket aboard 
at the Yanks, just as the water chased him 
from the deck to the rigging. She settled 
in four fathoms, with the crew at the cross- 
trees, and her red ensign flapping at the gaff- 
end above the whitecaps that snarled over 
the shoal. Boats from the garrison pulled 
out against the gale and picked the crew from 
off their perches, just as Chauncey's fleet 
tacked to the southward, and bore away for 
Sackett's Harbour." 

And here Malachi unarched his huge back, 
as though shaking off the weight of his century, 
and lapsed into silence, his one eye concen- 
trated upon the shivering tack of the mizzen 

30 




1 HE " SIMCOE " Rl NNIXC; I Ml- ..\l S i 

•■ Richardson squared her away before the wind and drove .traighl foi 
Se> en-Ai re Sli lal. 



WHEN CHAUNCEY CAME TO KINGSTON 

gafftops'l, which, as everyone knows, pro- 
claimed that the Albacore was getting a just 
and even " full-and-by," no more and no 
less. 

But the mood of utterance was on Malachi. 
He whirled the wheelspokes unnecessarily, 
cleared his throat once or twice, and finally 
broke forth : 

" Everybody's got a good streak in him, 
some'eres. Even Isaac Chauncey had his." 

" Him as was the American commodore 
on Lake Ontario ? " queried Pan-faced Harry 
artfully, as though Malachi had not been 
talking about the very man for the last hour. 

" Young feller," answered Malachi impres- 
sively. " There never was more'n one Isaac 
Chauncey. That was him." 

Brutus-like he paused for a reply. None 
was forthcoming. The oracle proceeded : 

" When Chauncey sunk the Simcoe in 
Kingston Harbour and sailed off to the 
south'ard in the November gale, it wasn't 
the loss of the vessel that worried old Jim 
Richardson. She was sheltered some by the 
reef she'd crossed before the Yanks plugged 
her, and could be raised. Matter o' fact, she 
was raised and sailed for years afterwards. 
But when the garrison boats picked up the 
old man and his crew from the crosstrees o' 

3i 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

the sunken packet his first word was : ' Where's 
the Moira ? ' 

" The Earl of Moira was a fourteen-gun 
brig that his son, young Jim Richardson, 
sailed in. Young Jim was a provincial 
lieutenant, but that only gave him rank as 
sailing master in the Royal Navy. He was a 
smart sailorman, and afterwards took to 
sky-piloting. The brig had sailed from York 
when the Simcoe did, but she was to stretch 
over to Niagara, and convoy a sloop from there 
to the St. Lawrence. 

" That sloop was only a squat little trader, 
boys, but she had a cargo money couldn't 
buy. Brave Sir Isaac Brock had been buried 
three weeks before in a bastion of Fort George. 
And that little sloop, sent across from York 
to Niagara, had aboard of her the dead general's 
sword, his plate, his books, his papers, his 
wardrobe, his arms — all the things his folk in 
the Channel Islands, across the salt water, 
would prize for remembrance. You've heard 
in school, you youngsters, that Brock's last 
words were, ' Push on, York Volunteers ! ' 
Right enough. He said that. And then he 
asked them that bent over him to send his 
sister— something. They couldn't catch just 
what. But them was his real last words. 
And this here sloop, that Richardson's son 

3^ 



WHEN CHAUNCEY CAME TO KINGSTON 

was helping convoy, had all of Brock's 
belongings aboard, bound for Montreal, for 
shipment home to Guernsey. 

" We told old Richardson the Moira hadn't 
been sighted, nor the Commodore in the Prince 
Regent, neither. He said the Prince Regent 
was safe in York, at the dockyard. ' But 
I'd sooner the Yanks 'ud blow the Simcoe to 
staves,' the old chap added, ' than have 'em 
catch Jimmy; and I'd sooner have 'em catch 
Jimmy than touch one scrap o' the general's 
property. Who'll go with me to warn the 
Moira that Chauncey's off the harbour mouth?' 

" It seemed a crazy thing to try, with a 
gale o' wind blowing from the west'ard and 
it spitting snow, and the Moira anywhere 
between Kingston Harbour and Burlington 
Bay. But he borrowed a fishboat and drum- 
med up a crew. Nobody was very keen on 
going, except the old man and me. That 
was how I got the chance. I dasn't go back 
to school, for I'd been playing hookey ever 
since the Yankee fleet showed up off the 
harbour ; and I dasn't go heme, for I'd get 
a whaling there for not going to school. It 
cost a shilling a week to get schooling then, 
and my dad was a particular man about 
shillings. 

" Anyhow, we started up the lake, in a 

33 d 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELYERS 

half-decked lugger, six of us, pulling her 
under oars against the headwind, and glad 
of the chance to keep warm that way. We 
followed the North Channel from Kingston, 
up among the islands of the Bay of Ouinte, 
and then pulled across to South Bay Point 
at the foot of Prince Edward County, by the 
False Ducks. Old Richardson figgered the 
Moira'd have to pass there on her way down 
the lake, and he planned to lie in the lee of 
the islands till she came by, and warn her to 
pop into the Bay of Ouinte. He was a good 
reckoner, was the old man. We reached the 
False Ducks by daylight, after forty miles 
of rowing and sailing — the wind had come fair 
— and we landed and thawed ourselves out 
by a driftwood fire, and cooked some grub. 
There was no wind all day, and the sky began 
to grease up, as it does ahead of a November 
snowfall. At sundown we sighted a pair of 
square tops'ls, and pulled towards 'em. It 
was the Moira. And she had the sloop in 
tow. She had been delayed coining down the 
lake, lagging for her convoy. They swung 
our fishboat in on the deck by the yard- 
tackles, and Capt. Sampson, R.N., who 
commanded her, said old Richardson ought 
to have a medal, and he felt honoured at having 
the son of such a man for sailing master. 

34 



WHEN CHAUNCEY CAME TO KINGSTON 

They let me swing a hammock that night in 
the Moira's fo'c'sle, and I wouldn't 'a changed 
places with King George. 

" The wind came in from the east'ard. 
There was no light on the False Ducks in 
them days, and to clear the islands before 
stretching north into the bay the Moira had 
to stand out into the lake. It was dangerous, 
but it had to be done. It was morning afore 
we'd a safe offing, and then the wind fell 
light, and the snow set in, smothering down 
like a thick blanket. 

' We lay rolling hour after hour, the empty 
sails slapping the masts, shaking down snow- 
falls at every lurch. Sometimes we could see 
the sloop astern, and sometimes we couldn't. 
With nothing else to do, the watch fell to 
guessing where she'd show up next. Some- 
times she'd range up on one quarter, sometimes 
on the other, sometimes almost abeam of us. 
She was drifting around on her long towline, 
for neither vessel had much steerage way. 
She went out of sight in an extra thick 
smother, and next we heard her hail : ' Moira 
ahoy . Have you changed the course ? ' and 
a voice answered astern of her : ' What ship 
is that ? Stand by to fend off ! ' 

" Then the snow thinned a bit, and we saw 
the sloop, and right on top of her, blotting 

35 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

out her shape with a towering bulk of canvas 
and hull, another vessel — a brig — eight heavy 
guns grinning from either side, and the 
Stars and Stripes sway in' at the main-peak. 
The Moira was trapped. Not a gun of ours 
was manned. And not a gun of ours could 
bear on her without first blowing the convoy- 
sloop out of the water. 

" Again came the hail, in a deep-sea bass. 
1 What ship is that ? ' Captain Sampson 
sprang to our rail. 

" ' His Britannic Majesty's brig-of-war Earl 
of Moira. Box } T our vessel off clear of that 
sloop, sir, and we'll fight it out with you — 
but for God's sake don't fire into that 
convoy ! ' 

" ' Why not ? ' bellowed the bass voice 
' Mind your own funeral — we're double your 
weight.' 

" ' The sloop,' answered Captain Sampson 
steadily, 'carries General Sir Isaac Brock's 
effects. Whoever you are. hold your broad- 
side till we have both let her drop out of 
range ! 

" ' This is the United States brig of war 
Oneida,' the bass voice came back, as though 
nettled at having to introduce his vessel, 
' flagship of Commodore Chauncey. The 
Commodore's compliments, and if you are 

36 



WHEN CHAUNCEY CAME TO KINGSTON 

convoying the effects of the late general, pass 
on. We'll meet again.' 

Again, sir,' answered Captain Sampson, 
stiffly. The Stars and Stripes at the Oneida's 
gaff-end dipped vaguely in a friendly salute. 
Our ensign dipped in return, shaking down 
snowflakes as it fell and rose and fluttered 
out in the reviving breeze. The sloop sidled 
back astern, the towline tautened, and the 
tops 'Is of the Yankee flagship faded into the 
snow-mist and vanished." 

'Well, "admitted Pan-faced Harry, who was 
a cautious critic of other men's actions, " that 
was rather white of Chauncey." 



37 



Ill 

The Burlington Races 

A DRAWN BATTLE ON LAKE ONTARIO IN 1813 

"TIT THAT! You never heard tell of 
V/V/ ^ e Burlington races ! Then I 
suppose your education was also 
neglected in the matter of the Ontario 
Circuit, the Niagara Sweepstakes, and so on ? 
Salt my old bones, the upbringing of the 
young has been of a strange sort, in these 
days of turf-guides and form charts." 

Like a Cyclops regarding the captives in 
his cavern, Malachi Malone glared from his 
bunkshelf in the schooner's forecastle upon 
the assembled " watch-below," sitting smok- 
ing and yarning on the chain-lockers. 

" Fill away, Malachi, on the 1812 tack," 
Archie Nickerson, the second mate, fired back, 
folding up the sporting page of the day- 
before-last's paper, from which the boys were 
trying to pick the Queen's Plate winner. 
And Malachi went on. 

39 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

" Second year of the war I got a berth in 
the new ship, the Wolfe, as powder boy, 
with an extra shilling a week from the captain 
of the starboard quarter battery for keepin' 
his shot-tally for him, because I was handy 
with the pen. The Admiralty was just as 
strict with us on the lakes as they were on 
salt water, with fines for every commander 
who went beyond his skimp}- allowance of 
ammunition. That was why there was 
such wild shooting work in action sometimes. 
The crews never got a chance to exercise at 
the guns unless a foreign ensign made the 
target. 

" I felt like a lord with my shilling a week 
for checking bar, chain and round shot, just 
because I was handy with a pen and could 
read without spelling every other word ; but 
the new commodore took the wind out of my 
sails in short order. 

" Sir James Lucas Yeo, he was, and he 
had just come to the lakes after fairly setting 
the sea on fire with the privateer Confiance, 
which he had cut out from under the French 
guns at Muros Bay. He was a hummer. 
Why, the King of Portugal made him a 
knight for the capture i >f the town of Cayenne ! 
He was thirty when he reached the lakes, a 
long, thin, sulky-looking chap, with a chin 



THE BURLINGTON RACES 

as hard as the peak of the anchor, and eyes 
that spat black lightning. He was a hard 
fighter, and a hard driver, and a hard loser. 
He went black in the face every time things 
went wrong, and that first season he went 
black very often. That new flagship of his, 
the Wolfe, was chaos afloat when he took 
her over — fresh from the ways, rigged out 
by torchlight, armed in the dark, and manned 
haphazard by hayseeds. First he made her 
a floating hell, then a progressing purgatory, 
and, before long, a well-oiled fighting- 
machine ; but there was a lot of rawhide 
used in the process. 

" Sir James fumed like a volcano, but took 
care the lava never scorched his own sides. 
He had the smaller fleet and fewer guns, and 
never once could old Chauncey nettle him 
into " 

" Who was old Chauncey ? " piped up 
Bill Barrymore, the newly-shipped donkey- 
man, pulling off his last seaboot. 

" Who was old Chauncey ? Who was 
George Washington ? " snorted Malachi in 
disgust at such ignorance, " Who " 

" Don't cross his bows when he has the 
starboard tack, you engine driver," warned 
Nickerson, " or it'll be ' eight bells ' before 
Malachi gets under weigh again." 

41 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

" Isaac Chauncey," rejoined Malachi delib- 
erately, " was the American Commodore 
on the lakes. It's all right boys ; he was 
dead before you were born, so no wonder 
you don't mind him. He was a jolly old 
dog was Chauncey — broad in the beam, with 
a round red face that had seen lots of wind 
and weather, and never forgot to laugh. 
There was only one thing he liked better than 
fighting and that was telling about it. 

" He had a queer fleet, had Chauncey. 
To start with, he had that old waggon the 
Oneida, a brig that crawled like a tortoise 
going free, and slid sideways like a crab when 
she tried to beat to wind'ard. But she had 
sixteen twenty-four-pounders, and that made 
her a tough nut to crack. She was better 
at fighting than running away — and that 
suited Melancthon T. Woolsey, of Sackett's 
Harbour, the lieutenant who commanded her, 
to a knockdown. Chauncey built a twenty- 
four-gun ship, the President Madison, in fifty- 
eight days from the day the timber was felled 
in the bush. Later on he built another line 
ship-rigged corvette, the General Pike, and 
a smart schooner called the Sylph. And he 
had a whole menagerie of little fore-'n'-afters 
of stone-hooker size — from a hundred tons 
down. 

4^ 



THE BURLINGTON RACES 

" They were coasters, bought up when the 
war broke out, and loaded with deck- jags of 
cannon. They were slow as molasses and 
tippy as soda-water bottles. All they were 
good for was long range work in smooth 
water. Then they were terrors. The guns 
they carried were all long 'uns, twice as 
powerful as the carronades our fleet had, 
meant for nigh-hand broadside work. 

" In light weather, at long range, those 
schooners lived up to their names — Scourge, 
Asp, Perl, Growler, and Conquest. In a sail- 
ing breeze they were as harmless as might 
be expected of Ontario, Julia, Hamilton, Fair 
American, Governor Tompkins, or Lady of the 
Lake. All told, Chauncey had fifteen vessels 
that summer. 

" Yeo had only eight at the most. There 
was the Wolfe, not quite as big as either the 
Pike or the Madison ; and the Royal George, 
ship-rigged like the Wolfe, but smaller. Then 
there were the brigs — the old Earl of Moira, 
and the Lord Melville — about half the size 
of the two ships ; and the schooners, Sir 
Sidney Smith, Beresford, Simcoe, and Seneca — 
none of them much bigger than the larger 
Bay of Quinte traders to-day. The last two 
were kept for transport duty or harbour 
work. The squadron sailed in three pa : rs — 

43 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

two ships, two brigs, two schooners ; and 
they held together like a bunch of trained 
dogs — after Yeo had sent one or two crews 
ashore to dig trenches, for shortening sail 
before the flagship signalled. 

" But Chauncey's bunch — Lord love you, 
the only way he had of keeping them together 
was roping them up. The smart ones in the 
fleet could sail circles around the droghers, 
and what was worse for him, they liked to do 
it. He'd write home how hard he wanted to 
fight, but he'd forget to add that he wanted 
to fight in smooth water at long range. He'd 
tow that slug the Oneida by the hour, and 
make the Madison and the Sylph tow the 
schooners, so that he would have all his guns 
for a battle — if he ever got one. And Sir 
James took good care that they never closed 
up until it was blowing a good hickory and 
there was a chance of our short guns and 
musketry sweeping the decks of the low- 
bulwarked, wallowing schooners. That was 
why we had what we called the ' Ontario 
Circuit.' 

" Old Chauncey had raised merry — begging 
your reverence's pardon." This was jerked 
at the young divinity student who was earning 
a dollar a day before the mast in the Albacore. 
" He'd slipped out of Sackctt's with the 

44 



THE BURLINGTON RACES 

ice, and raided York before Yeo reached the 
lake. He had swamped Fort George, filled 
the Niagara peninsula with Yankee soldiers, 
and got the penned-up Buffalo fleet free on 
Lake Erie by the time Yeo had the Wolfe 
ready and made his fizzle of an attack on 
Sackett's. Then Yeo had shelled out the 
American encampment at Forty-Mile Creek 
at the head of the lake and scoured the south 
shore, raided the Genesee settlement near 
Rochester, taken the fort and the supply 
depot at Sodus, captured two schooners and 
a brigade of boats, and gone back to Kingston 
to refit. While he was on the south shore, 
young Lieutenant Wolcott Chauncey slipped 
across in the Lady of the Lake and snapped 
up the transport Lady Murray, loaded with 
soldiers, sailors, and supplies, at Presqu'isle, 
on the north shore, near the Bay of Quinte. 
" Yeo made another stab at Sackett's 
Harbour with no result. The Pike and the 
Sylph were just building then, and if he had 
destroyed them he would have had the whip 
hand. But he had to go back to Kingston, 
and the new Pike, the heaviest ship on the 
fresh water, joined Chauncey's fleet, and the 
old boy went up the lake, tried Burlington 
Heights and got his fingers burned, raided 
York again to fill his flour-bins, and went 

45 



THE EIGHTEEN TWELVERS 

across to Niagara, to send sailors up 
to Lake Erie and take on soldiers in their 
places. 

" While we were at Burlington we heard 
how our whole Lake Erie fleet had been shot 
to pieces at Put-In Bay. We found that 
Chauncey had reached Niagara again, and as 
he had got the habit of filling his flour-bins 
over at York we stood down the lake and 
anchored in Humber Bay in the lee of the 
Island — York Roads they called it then. Sure 
enough, next morning, the twenty-eighth 
of September, the lookouts sighted him, 
stretching across from Niagara under all 
sail, with stu'ns'ls out, in a smart east breeze. 
We hove up our anchors and stood out to 
meet him, close hauled on the port tack. 

" We were about three miles apart when 
the fleets drew abreast. It looked as though 
our big chance had come. Here was the 
enemy, at least fifteen miles from shelter 
— and a good fresh breeze, rolling the sea 
ahead of it and promising a strong gale before 
night — just our conditions. 

" ' One, two, three, four, five, six, seven 
sail,' I heard Sir James count to the first 
lieutenant, who was busy plotting out 
courses. ' A pity he didn't bring the rest of 
his menagerie, but what's left in Niagara will 

46 



THE BURLINGTON RACES 

stay there the rest of the war if this day's 
work is good ! ' 

" The Pike was storming along, far in the 
lead, with the schooner Asp thrashing about 
after her on the end of a long towline. The 
Governor Tompkins followed under full sail. 
Next came the Madison and the Sylph, each 
with a wobbling schooner fast to them. Then, 
far back, the Oneida lumbered, with enough 
to do to look after herself. And last of all 
were two schooners, too far off to be made 
out. 

" As the fleets lapped and began to pass 
the Pike steered for the Beresford and Sir 
Sidney Smith, two schooners, in the rear of 
our line. The Wolfe was at the head, and to 
give Chauncey a fight with a man of his size 
Sir James signalled the fleet to wear ship. 
The Wolfe was the first to come round. This 
brought us and the Pike and Tompkins in 
range of one another. They opened with 
their long guns, and we tried our carronades. 

" The boys burst into cheers as they saw 
the Pike's main t'gallant mast, with its sail 
and the royal above it, pitch overboard after 
our first broadside. The splinters flew from 
the Pike's bulwarks and we knew every shot 
of ours was telling. Her first broadside went 
high, spotting our topsails with shot-ho es ; and 

47 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

then with a roar her whole forecastle seemed 
to lift up. When she yawed to give us the 
starboard broadside the bow-chaser burst. 
That killed and wounded twenty-two of her 
men. But the rest of her broadside did 
terrible work with us. It was fired low, and 
it sheared the bulwarks like a scythe ; the 
Pike, you know, threw the heaviest long- 
range broadside on fresh water " 

"How heavy? "interrupted Pan-faced Harry. 

" Three hundred and sixty pounds, thrown 
a mile and a half ; which isn't the weight 
of one shot maybe of a modern battleship, 
nor the range of a modern rifle, but it was a 
stunner in my day. 

" Boys-oh-boys, how the splinters did fly ! 
The captain of the port quarter-guns was 
scattered all over me ; poor chap, a split ball 
fairly made mincemeat of him. I was on my 
knees, wiping the blood from my eyes and 
trying to get up, when there was a ripping 
crash overhead, and the mizzen topmast fell 
forward, with its yards, into the main rigging. 
It was blowing hard by this time, and the 
weight of the wind and the falling spars 
snapped the main topmast backstays. The 
maintopmast bent like a whip, and then it 
too came crashing down, bringing the main 
yard with it. 

48 



THE BURLINGTON RACES 

' In all my sailing I've never seen such a 
mess — the deck filled with screaming, groan- 
ing, cursing, cheering men, splintered spars as 
big as tree-trunks, tangled ropes, and loosened 
sails, thrashing about and smothering every- 
thing like a collapsed circus tent. 

" Sir James, black and bloody, seized the 
wheel himself. ' She won't steer ! ' he hissed, 
as he whirled the spokes over, to keep her 
from falling into the trough and rolling her 
one remaining mast out. ' No wonder, with 
all her after sail gone, and that raffle of stuff 
dragging overboard ! Quarter-master, put her 
dead before the wind, and keep her there ! 
Sailing-master, set everything you can crowd 
on to the foremast ! All hands to the quarter 
deck, except the foremast men and the stern- 
gun crews, to chop clear the wreck.' 

" And with that he gave up the wheel and 
seized a ship axe. There was another crash 
from the Pike, but the shot this time went 
whistling into the empty space where our 
topmasts had been. 

" Then, through the powder smoke speared 
a long bowsprit, crowded with straining sails, 
and a short, blocky ship ranged across our 
stern. 

" ' Leave him to me, sir ! ' I heard a strong 
clear voice call, and peering out of a shattered 

49 e 



THE EIGHTEEN-TYYELYERS 

gunport I saw it was the Royal George, and Sir 
William Howe Mulcaster was hanging by the 
mizzen t 'gallant backstays, trumpet in hand. 

" Sir James answered something, but I 
couldn't hear it, for just then the George s 
broadside spoke. Then her headsails fluttered 
and went dead as they were blanketed, and 
she wore around, and ranged across our stern 
again, and gave them the other broadside. 
I heard a distant roar from the Pike and the 
splinters crackled from the George, and her 
fore topmast was shot away, at the head. 
But the yard stayed aloft, leaving her under 
control, and Captain Mulcaster kept swinging 
her, yawing to port and starboard as fast as 
his crews could load their guns, and covering 
our retreat. 

"Just one glimpse I got at the Pike while 
I helped slash the lanyards of the trailing 
maintopmast rigging. She was all cut up for- 
ward, and steering wild. The schooner that 
had kept on her quarter, the Tompkins, had 
her foremast dragging over the bows. The 
Sylph and the Madison were hanging on to 
their towing schooners, glad of the chance of 
keeping out of reach of the spurs of that 
fighting-cock Mulcaster. Our own schooners 
and the brigs were running abeam of us, 
firing their stern guns. 

5<j 



THE BURLINGTON RACES 

" I've sometimes thought it only needed 
a little more nerve to have turned on those 
Yankees with our five fighting ships, leaving 
the Wolfe to sink or swim. The brigs and 
schooners and Royal George might have 
downed the Pike, cut up as she was, in spite 
of her heavy batteries ; and once she was 
crippled as badfy even as the Wolfe, the rest 
would have been easy, for it was blowing so 
hard the Sylph and the Madison were the 
only other real fighters. We could have 
sailed circles around the old Oneida, and the 
little schooners were rolling so their guns 
would have gone down the hatches or over- 
board the moment they tried to fire them. 

" Of course, we didn't know then the Pike 
had twenty-seven men laid out, all told. We 
were hard hit ourselves, and ours was the 
Commodore's ship. Had Mulcaster been 
flying the broad pennant now — but what's 
the use — they're all dead, now, all but me." 

"Go, on, Malachi," said the second mate, 
" you've got a hundred years of life in you 
yet." 

" Sure I have," answered Malachi, re- 
lighting his pipe, " and as I was saying, we 
ran on and on, with the Royal George swinging 
to port and starboard off our quarters and 
more splinters flying from Chauncey's fleet 

51 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

every time she did. Flamboro' Head, back 
of Burlington Bay, loomed up bigger with 
every lift of the sea. 

Pilot, can you take us through the cut in 
this sea ? ' asked Sir James. 

"' I'm a bit doubtful,' said an old lake sailor, 
who had a berth in the chart room just for 
his knowledge of the anchorages. They were 
all natural harbours then, mind you, and 
beacons as scarce as hens' teeth. ' Well, if 
you do, here's five golden guineas,' said Sir 
James, ' and if you don't, there's the fore 
yardarm. with a whip rove and a noose at 
the end.' 

" ' I'll take the guineas,' said the old 
chap. And Sir James paid him then and 
there. 

" ' Now, Jonathan,' he said, with a look 
at the pursuing fleet astern, and the breakers 
bursting on the beach ahead, ' follow as hard 
as you like. You can't make the entrance 
to the bay, even if we can. If we all drive 
ashore, we are wrecked on our own coast, you 
on a foreign one, and your fleet is just as 
much destroyed as if I had captured it in 
midlake — as I hoped to do this accursed 
day.' 

" You might have thought Chauncey heard 
him, for the Pike was next moment flying a 

52 



THE BURLINGTON RACES 

string of flags, and the whole fleet hauled on 
the wind — the Oneida first of all — and 
started to thrash back to Niagara from the 
perils of the lee-shore. We watched them 
dip and lunge and roll, and began to make 
bets that Melancthon Woolsey's old brig 
would never claw clear, even with six miles 
offing ; but next moment our own troubles 
engaged us. 

" The surf went seething up the beach in 
great bursts of white foam, retreating in a 
creamy lacework of sandy backwash, and 
spouting high again in the next breaker. 
Straight as an arrow for the gap in the sand 
the Beresford steered. She went through 
on the crest of a comber, and the Sir Sidney 
Smith followed. We could see them across 
the sandbar as they rounded up to guard the 
entrance. Then the Moira tried it, and 
passed, and the Melville, with the water 
spouting from her scuppers, as her crew 
pumped her of the burden trickling in through 
the loosened shot plugs. Then it was our 
turn, for with all our aftersail gone we had to 
drive straight before the wind, and couldn't 
turn aside to give the gallant Mulcaster the 
next chance. A rush on a comber, a sickening 
pause as the backwash on the bar caught us, 
then a triumphant forward plunge — and 

53 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

the pilot laughed at the noose on the fore- 
yard, and jingled the guineas in his pocket. 

" And in our wake, with never a zig-zag 
now, the Royal George came roaring, bow 
and stern resting on the travelling crests of 
two giant seas. Up, up, up she lifted, as 
the two combined under her keel ; a forward 
spring, a rush like an avalanche, and the last 
and bravest ship of all was through, safe over 
the hurdles in the steeplechase that ended the 
Burlington Races." 

" Oh, so that's what you call the Bur- 
lington Races," said Pan-faced Harry in a 
relieved voice. ' I was wondering " 

But what he was wondering the watch 

never knew. For on the scuttle hood there 

was a banging, and the first mate was heard 

calling : 

" Heigh below you sleepers, 
Don't you hear the news ? 
It's eight b-e-l-l-s ! " 



54 



IV 

The Niagara Sweepstakes 

NINETEEN SHIPS PLAY HIDE-AND-SEEK UPON 
AN INLAND SEA 

a X "X TELL," conceded Pan-faced Harry, 
\I \ with the air of a man who yields 
" the last possible inch, ' where 

does the Ontario Circuit and the Niagara 
Sweepstakes come in ? Answer me that ! ' 
This was days after that occasion when 
the ancient Malachi Malone had yarned himself 
into a mellow mood over the Burlington 
Races. The artful Pan-face, knowing that 
the appearance of opposition always made the 
old man's fancy flow the more freely, con- 
tributed this little obstruction to the current, 
to the great delight of the divinity student. 
The other members of the forecastle audience 
smoked and snored in appreciative toleration. 
There are many ways of spending a watch - 
below, and worse ones than listening to an 
old man's tale, even if you don't believe it. 

55 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

Malachi was not argumentative. He 
sucked at his pipe until he had picked up the 
yarn strand at the place he wanted — not 
where it had been broken by the call of the 
watch, but at the point where it would give 
the fingers of his memory a " good holt." 
Having found this he rumbled on , in a mono- 
tone vaguely suggestive of the ceaseless croon 
of breakers on a sandy beach : 

" This was in eighteen-thirteen remember ; 
same year of the war as the Burlington 
Races, but earlier in the season. 

" We catheaded our anchors in Kingston 
Harbour the second of August, and sheeted 
home our t'gallant-s'ls to a nice little air 
from the eastward that sent us slanting past 
the Main Ducks and Timber Island, the 
False Ducks and South Bay Point, and on up 
the lake till we had sunk the land. The 
little schooners Simcoe and Seneca we left 
behind for harbour defence and transport 
work. We were a squadron of six — two 
ships, two brigs, and two schooners, as I 
told you before, and I was in the Wolfe, Sir 
James Lucas Yeo's flagship. 

" It was the seventh of the month before we 
found Chauncey. He was lying in the 
Niagara river mouth, at anchor, with his 
whole fleet, except the little Lady of the 

56 



THE NIAGARA SWEEPSTAKES 

Lake. She was off somewhere with de- 
spatches. The Sylph was still fitting out in 
Sackett's. When we hove in sight he got 
under weigh, for the water was smooth and 
the weather just suited him. Of course it 
didn't suit Sir James ; so it was ' wear and 
stay, stand by tacks and sheets, set stu'ns'ls, 
take 'em in, clew up and set again,' all that 
day. When the breeze would freshen, we'd 
edge in and Chauncey would bear away ; 
when the puffs would lighten he would haul 
up and we would claw off. Sir James was 
itching for a fight, but with six vessels to 
thirteen he knew he would be a fool to let 
Chauncey choose the conditions. 

" Oh that was a dry and dreary day ! 
Sunrise showed us the American fleet weighing 
anchor in the river mouth. When they made 
sail we hauled on the port tack and stood 
offshore to keep the weather gauge the 
westerly wind gave us. Their flagship, the 
Pike, led the van, with the Madison following 
close up. Either one of them was a match 
— if she got her own terms — for our whole 
squadron, so we had to be careful of the four 
dozen heavy guns they carried. The breeze 
was light and while they gained nothing on us 
they soon dropped their own heavy-footed, 
little supporting schooners. By nine o'clock 

57 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELYERS 

their line had strung out until it was six 
miles long, so around we wore on the chance 
of a straight set-to with the two big ships 
before the little ones caught up. But 
Chauncey edged away inshore again, giving 
his schooners a chance to catch up, so around 
we went and stretched out into the lake, to be 
sure of at least plenty of sea room. By noon 
the wind had fanned out. The fleets were as 
far apart as ever, with us lying further out 
in the lake. The little Yankee schooners ran 
long oars through their ports, and crawled 
up towards us under sweeps, but their square 
riggers were too heavy to gain on us that 
way, and the little fellows didn't dare venture 
far on their own hook. 

" Little cats '-paws kept all the vessels 
changing places, but not once were we really 
within gunshot. By evening we were in 
the middle of the lake — fifteen miles off shore, 
and Chauncey was flying his recall signal, 
and forming his fleet up in close order for 
the night. 

" The sun set in a purple bank. 

" ' There's dirt in that,' I heard the captain 
of the main-top say ; ' it looks like Sir James 
did the last time we was beaten at Sackett's 
Harbour ! ' 

" ' Well, at that I'd sooner have the Wolfe 

58 



THE NIAGARA SWEEPSTAKES 

under me than one of them gun-drays of 
schooners ! ' says one of his mates. ( We'll 
know what they're good for afore mornin' ! ' 

" The night settled in thick as pitch. It 
sort of choked you. We could see the lights 
of the American fleet strung out in column, 
as they tacked to keep an offing. We followed 
to make sure of sea room too. 

" When the watch was called at ' eight bells,' 
midnight, it began to spit rain and breeze up. 

' Wind before rain 
Clew up and set again, 
Rain before wind, 
Clew up and take in. 
When comes the rain before the wind, 
Topsail halliards you must mind.' 

" I can hear the topmen singing that yet, 
and the deafening roar of the bursting thunder- 
squall that drowned out the chorus. The 
rain poured as though the bottom had fallen 
out of a great reservoir overhead, and the 
thunder bellowed as though the fleet to lee- 
ward of us had opened in broadside fire. 

" * Stand by halliards, tacks, and sheets ! 
Let go and clew up all ! Man clewgarnets, 
buntlines and brails ! ' came from the sailing- 
master's trumpet, and the bos'ns' pipes 
shrilled from van to rear as ship after ship 
began to strip for the wrestle. 

" The rain was coming down in straight 

59 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

streaks, and what wind there was had died 
out. We pulled and hauled and pounded the 
soaking canvas into the gaskets. The tops'l 
yards were still on the caps, with the reef- 
earings hauled out but the points not tied, 
when the wind burst loose with a roar. 

" The Wolfe heeled until her yard-arms 
brushed the water, and I slid into the lee 
scuppers and was almost drowned. I found 
my feet just as she found hers. Four men 
were straining on the wheel to get it hard up 
and square her off before the swelter. There 
was no other way of saving her, and the rest 
of our fleet had to follow. On we all swept, 
like gulls before a hurricane, and right ahead 
of us loomed the last and largest two of the 
American schooners. 

" One flash of lightning showed them 
shortening sail, the next showed them trying 
to sheet home their topsails in an effort to 
dodge us. They could see our whole squadron 
bearing down on them and their own fleet 
tearing away. Then their lights went out ; 
and the next flash showed nothing but tossing 
water, with the wind whipping the crests off 
the waves. The squall eased off as suddenly 
as it had come, and we could hear a wild 
crying and wailing, like banshees, or the 
women at the wakes my father used to tell 

60 



THE NIAGARA SWEEPSTAKES 

about. Then a hencoop floated by, and a 
hatch cover, and a wheel grating, and the 
wailing died away in the sobs of the diminish- 
ing rain. 

" ' Out boats, lads, and smartly too ! ' 
I heard Sir James call from the quarter deck. 
' Burn flares and signal the whole fleet to 
man boats ! Something's gone under ! ' 

" All the scowl had gone from his face, and 
his chin looked a deal less like the peak of an 
anchor than usual. He overhauled the tackle- 
fall of the port launch himself, eager to get 
her afloat, and in less time than it takes to 
tell the lake was dotted with boats' lanterns 
and lighted up with flares. 

" The boats rowed round and round, while 
the lights of the American fleet grew dimmer 
and dimmer and faded away. One by one the 
small craft came alongside. They had picked 
up floating rammers, and gratings, and 
provision boxes, and a cap or two ; but it 
looked as though no one was left to tell what 
had happened, till the Beresford ranged 
across our stern, and her captain hailed : 
' We have picked up sixteen men of the 
enemy's fleet, sir. Two of their schooners 
have capsized and sunk ! ' 

" ' Send them aboard as soon as they're 
fit to move,' sang back Sir James. 

61 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELYERS 

" Soon a launch came alongside, and a 
woe-begone little crowd trailed through the 
entry-port and aft to the quarter deck. Our 
ship-lanterns showed them dressed in misfit 
British jumpers. Their wild eyes and hair 
still wet and sticking to their foreheads told 
pretty plainly that they had just been rescued 
from the water. 

" ' Well, my lads,' said Sir James briskly 
— but not half as sharp as he always spoke 
to us — ' how come you here ? ' 

" ' It's not by our choice,' said a ready- 
tongued fellow they seemed to have elected 
spokesman. ' Two of us was in the Scourge 
and the rest belong to the Hamilton. Ours 
were the biggest vessels among the fore-'n'- 
af ters, and the last in the line. We'd snugged 
down for the squall, when we saw you comin' 
like a flyin' cyclone. The rest of our fleet 
was droppin' us, so we began to make sail 
again on a chance of pullin' clear of you. 
Well — you know how it blew ! Before we'd 
got the tops'l clews to the yard-arms we was 
on our beams ends, and the lee gun-muzzles 
was in the water. The weather guns broke 
adrift and took charge of the deck, and next 
thing we knew the schooner'd left us. Least- 
ways, that's what happened in the Scourge, and 
the Hamilton lads'll tell you the same thing ! ' 

62 



THE NIAGARA SWEEPSTAKES 

" ' Yes, sir, that's how it was,' coughed one 
of the Hamilton men, his lungs still raw 
from the lake water he had swallowed. 

" ' How were you saved ? ' asked Sir James. 

" ' Most of us swum for a capsized long- 
boat,' said the first chap, ' and the rest of 
us found hatch-covers and what-not.' 

" ' Very well,' said Sir James. ' Sailing- 
master, see that these lads are made com- 
fortable forward.' And with that he turned 
and walked to the binnacle, as though he had 
no more concern in the matter. 

" But he was as foxy as any sea lawyer. 
Turning those chaps loose in our fo'c'sle 
meant that they'd be cross-examined by two 
hundred tongues ; and before daylight Sir 
James knew all there was to be known. 
Chauncey had lost two of his best schooners, 
though at that, the Scourge and the Hamilton 
were nothing to grieve over. They only mea- 
sured a hundred and ten tons apiece, and 
they'd been coasters before they were fitted 
out for the war fleet. They were heavy armed, 
too heavy, indeed. It was their deckloads 
of guns that toppled them over. The Scourge 
had a long thirty-two pounder, and eight 
short twelves, and the Hamilton had a long 
thirty-two and a long twenty-four, besides 
eight twelve-pounder carronades. Between 

63 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELYERS 

them they drowned eighty-four men ; and 
while the Yankee boys wouldn't admit it, 
we could see that they had no hope of Chauncey 
making a rescue of them, with his fleet 
crippled as it was. There was no doubt about 
it, the squall had taken the best of his 
fleet, outside of his square-riggers. 

" For my own part I felt glad that the 
Hamilton at least had gone under. I'd a 
grudge against her, after seeing her work at 
Kingston, the first year of the war. 

" With daylight of the eighth of August 
came a fresh breeze out of a cloudy sky — 
a nor'wester, putting us well to windward of 
the Yankee fleet, though they had beaten all 
night to gain the weather gauge. Out went 
our stu'ns'ls like spreading wings, and with 
every craft a perfect cloud of straining sail 
we went after 'em. 

" ' Just watch us sail rings around your 
fleet with this breeze,' we told the lads we'd 
rescued. ' Them little schooners '11 be swept 
clean as a whistle afore they can fire a gun, 
if this sea keeps up, and then for the big 
fellows ! ' 

" But shucks ! No sooner had we begun to 
raise their hulls above the horizon than 
puff ! out fanned our breeze. There was 
onlv enough air left for us to heave-to in. 

64 



THE NIAGARA SWEEPSTAKES 

We lay dipping and rolling on the starboard 
tack, until the swell smoothed out, and the 
gun-schooners of the enemy began to turn 
again into reasonable shooting platforms. 
Soon it was a flat calm. This gave old 
Chauncey heart again, and instead of edging 
off he hauled up for us. By noon there was 
just a trickle of wind from the eastward. It 
wasn't enough to budge their tubby old brig 
Oneida, so the Pike, having the loftiest sails, 
took her in tow, and the schooners got their 
sweeps out, and the whole eleven of them stood 
after us. 

( Watch after watch our topmen had to 
hang in the foot-ropes along the yards, with 
waterbuckets passing up and down all the 
time, to soak the sails and make 'em draw in 
the light airs. That's what we called ' skeet- 
ing ' in the old days. By steady work hour 
after hour, trimming sail and steering to a 
hair's breadth, we kept our lead, and the 
smallest of the schooners under their sweeps 
began to draw out ahead of their square- 
riggers. 

" Towards sun-down the easterly trickle 
died, and a puff came in from the west. The 
nearest schooners were within two miles of 
us then, and their flagship four miles astern. 
Up went our helm and round our bowsprits 

65 i- 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

swung, and our whole fleet raced to cut the 
vanguard off from the heavy-weights. The 
little schooners began firing their long thirty- 
two pounders, but all the good that did was 
to plough up the water half a mile from us. 
Under sails and sweeps they scurried back 
for Chauncey's sheltering wings, and long 
before we could overhaul 'em the fleet had 
been re-united. 

" Chauncey gave up the idea of a fight and 
made all sail for the south shore at dark. 
We didn't follow him in, but we knew where 
he was going — in to anchor on the Niagara 
Shoal, and get soldiers from the fort to make 
up for the men he had lost in the squall. 
And that's what he did. He got a hundred- 
and-fifty riflemen, and stowed them among 
what schooners he had left. We soon found 
that out. 

" It was a quiet night. We could hear, 
though we lay miles offshore, the noise of 
boats bringing the soldiers out from the fort. 

" Morning of the ninth showed the 
same old fleet of square-riggers and fore-'n'- 
afters standing towards us, and the same old 
conditions — light breezes and smooth water. 
No day for a battle for us, thank ye, so again 
it was wear and stay, set stu'ns'ls and take 
'em in, skeet everything from the royals 

Ob 



THE NIAGARA SWEEPSTAKES 

down, and keep a wake like a chalk-line. We 
got further and further away from them, 
although much of the time they had their 
sweeps out. Thank the Lord, even the little 
Beresford of our fleet was almost too big for 
that, so there was little of that back-breaking 
job for us " 

"D'ye mean to tell me," broke in the second 
mate, suddenly waking up, " you could drive 
them war-ships under oars ? " 

" Yes we could," answered Malachi, " and 
we did. I've seen the Beresford, though she 
measured a hundred-and-eighty-seven tons, 
swept along for miles with oars through her 
bulwarks, four men on each oar. But 'twas 
a killing job. 

" In the dog-watches it began to blow a 
fresh breeze from the northward. We had 
stretched pretty well across Lake Ontario 
by this time, and Sir James stood on, hoping 
the smooth water on the north shore would 
tempt Chauncey to follow in, but that wary 
old bird split tacks with him, and the two 
fleets kept far apart all night. 

" By morning of the tenth, the fourth 
morning since we'd begun this merry-go- 
round, mind ye, the enemy was barely in 
sight, even with glasses from the t 'gallant 
cross-trees. The wind was light again, 

67 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

westerly with a southerly cast, so back across 
the lake we loped once more on the starboard 
tack. There was only one thing to do — hold 
our weather-gauge until it blew hard enough 
to use it. We went across under easy sail, 
and slowly Chauncey, with stu'ns'ls out, 
hauled up on our lee quarter. His flagship, 
the Pike, had the schooner Asp in tow, and 
the Madison towed the Fair American. The 
Oneida and the rest of the schooners ambled 
along as best they could. 

" When the first dog-watch began that 
afternoon the wind made a sudden northerly 
shift that put us to leeward. All our hard- 
won weather-gauge went to nothing. Chauncey 
had tacked to meet the shift, and he formed 
his battle-line four miles to windward, and 
bore away for us, as bold as brass. Sir James 
took a long chance. He stood on towards 
the south shore, hoping for two things : 
either that the rough water there would keep 
the Yankee gun-schooners muzzled, or that 
a shift off-shore would put him to windward 
again. 

" And when we got in under the land, lo 
and behold, the wind died out altogether ! 
There we lay, like a lot of target-floats, the 
sails slapping the masts and our chequered 
sides mirrored in the glassy water, while 

68 



THE NIAGARA SWEEPSTAKES 

Chauncey came stretching in with swelling 
sails ! Our ship-mates of the Scourge and 
Hamilton wore grins like crocodiles, and Sir 
James was as black as the squall that had 
sunk their schooners, when the top-men began 
to call : ' Faint air aloft, sir ! And offshore, 
too! ' 

" ' Round in the starboard braces ! Lar- 
board stu'ns'ls alow and aloft ! ' was the 
cheery answer, and by this time we could see 
the little cats'-paws crinkling the water. Soon 
the purring began under the bows, and, ship 
after ship, our squadron slipped westward 
out of the calm belt. The little off-shore 
whiff raced out to meet the northerly breeze 
that was bringing Chauncey in, and by the 
time we were well under weigh he was in the 
doldrums, with sails filling both ways. By 
the end of the first dog-watch we had our 
weather-gauge again, after crossing Lake 
Ontario twice to hold it ! 

" This evening was the third one after the 
big squall. The breeze came in steady from 
the sou'west. The sun set clear, and there 
was a bright moon. The enemy hauled on an 
easy bowline and stood towards Burlington, 
at the head of the lake. 

" It's hard to realize that through this same 
blue water that the excursion steamers furrow 

69 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

a dozen times a day in summer now — from 
Toronto to Niagara, Port Dalhousie, Hamilton 
and Grimsby — our war-fleets ploughed their 
way in them old days. But we did. Boys- 
oh-boys, the tracks we cut in this Ontario 
Circuit would make you dizzy if you could 
only begin to trace 'em in the water ! " 

' So that's it ! " ejaculated Pan-faced Harry 
with a satisfied sigh. " That's the Ontario 
Circuit ! " 

" Part of it," said Malachi, and went on 
with his story. 

" We took a hitch in towards the south 
shore, expecting the wind to come fresh off 
the land, as it usually does there at sundown, 
and with the first stars out we came around 
and stood after the Yankee fleet. It was soon 
blowing a smart breeze, but the water was 
smooth, and, watching their lights, we could 
see they were getting ready for us once more. 

" ' At last ! ' everybody was saying. 'At 
last we've got 'em ! ' 

" By this time we knew their vessels as 
well as we knew our own, and as we came up 
with them we made out the little schooners 
Fair American, Ontario, Asp, Pert, Growler 
and Julia, in one line, and the larger Conquest, 
Tompkins, Madison, Oneida and Pike in a 
line to leeward of them. 

70 




a 
< 



THE NIAGARA SWEEPSTAKES 

" We opened with the long guns — which 
were scarce enough in our fleet — and the 
weather line of schooners answered with 
theirs. As we drew in it got too hot for them, 
and at eleven o'clock they started their main- 
sheets and ran down through the gaps of the 
lee line — all but two of them. The Julia and 
the Growler tacked across our bows, heading 
south. They were the smartest in the schooner 
fleet. 

" The game was to draw us down so that 
we would be under the heavy guns of the Pike 
and Madison and Oneida, and the schooners 
to leeward of them would be potting us at 
their pleasure. It was a simple trick, and 
it might have worked in the dark — but this 
was in bright moonlight, so strong you could 
make out the different colours of the battle 
flags ; and the crews of the two schooners 
that led the fleet were so clever they overdid 
the programme. Instead of running down 
like their orders called for they tacked, so as 
to get the weather gauge of us. It would 
have been a choice target-practice position — 
if we had done what they wanted us to do. 
But Sir James was wide awake yet, though 
he had never left the deck in seventy-two 
hours. He stood right on, holding the port 
tack. Old Chauncey saw what was up, and 

71 



THE EIGHTEEN -TWELVERS 

bore away a couple of points more, and 
started firing his stern guns to get him to 
edge down ; but that was just what Sir 
James would not do. He sailed along, close 
hauled on the wind, until he had brought the 
whole squadron between Chauncey and the 
runaway schooners. As each vessel passed 
the Yankee flagship we gave her a broadside, 
for luck, and then stood around on the star- 
board tack after the Julia and Growler. 

" They realized the hole they were in, and 
tried to outsail us, a thing which schooners 
might do, beating to windward, against square- 
riggers. But one third of our squadron was 
schooner-rigged too, and the Smith and 
Beresford soon worked out to windward of 
the ships and brigs. 

" The J alia and Growler thrashed in till 
they risked running ashore, and then, as the 
moon set, suddenly doubled, and came run- 
ning back, wing-and-wing, trying to escape 
through the whole fleet in the dark. But 
it was no use. We were too well spread out 
for them, and after a few plunk-plunks of 
long-range shot they had to round up and 
haul their colours down. 

" We found them fairly good vessels of 
their sort. Each had thirty-five seamen, 
and a couple o' dozen soldiers, taken aboard 

72 



THE NIAGARA SWEEPSTAKES 

from Fort Niagara two nights before. They 
were smaller than the vessels that capsized — 
the one being eighty-two tons, the other eighty- 
one — and each mounted two heavy long guns, 
a thirty-two and a twelve, on pivots. They 
were old friends, in a way, for the Julia was 
the first schooner the Yankees armed for the 
war. I'll tell you about that some other 
time maybe. She fought off the Moira and 
the Duke of Gloucester, once on her way to 
Ogdensburg ; and both she and the Growler 
gave the Royal George a red-hot time at 
Kingston, the fall of the first year of the war ; 
and they had both helped batter us out of 
Fort George. 

" The captured crews weren't sorry to 
wear our handcuffs, for they said there'd 
have been something dangling from each 
squares'l yard-arm next morning, if Chauncey 
had caught them while still hot over their 
disobeying orders. 

" And that, youngsters, winds up the 
Niagara Sweepstakes, where we picked four 
off from Chauncey's fleet without parting a 
rope-yarn ; a case of ' wait, sweetly wait, 
and murmur not.' " 

1 Go on, Malachi, go on ! " urged the fore- 
castle crowd, as the old-timer paused for a 
long breath. " There's more, ain't there ? ' 

73 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

" Well, you've got yourselves to blame if 
you don't like the rest of it," murmured the 
old man. " Here 'tis. 

" By morning, when the prizes had been 
remanned and everything made shipshape 
after the night's flurry, the cross-tree men 
sighted the American fleet away down to 
leeward of us, abreast of Niagara. We made 
sail, towing our captures, for they were pretty 
badly cut up in their gear. It breezed up 
to a gale, with a heavy sea, from the west- 
ward. A stern chase is always a long one, 
and by the time we came up with the dullest 
of the schooners, Chauncey had left, his largest 
vessels were still a long way ahead of us. 

" We felt sure we would pick off two more 
of his fore-and-aft brigade, but the pair we 
counted on, the Pert and Fair American, 
ran for the Niagara river, and dodged in 
under the guns of the fort. It was touch and 
go with them, for the seas were making a 
clean sweep over their weather beam, and 
time and again we expected them to roll 
over. This time there would have been no 
rescue work — it was blowing too hard. 

" What was left of the American fleet 
drove straight down the lake. We could 
hear our officers with spy glasses tell how they 
would ship seas till they spilled over at both 

74 



THE NIAGARA SWEEPSTAKES 

sides, and everybody expected them to run 
under. We got all the washing we wanted 
ourselves. It was a miracle how those small, 
top-heavy schooners stayed afloat. We chased 
them as far as Long Point, and then, feeling 
pretty sure that Chauncey wouldn't dare 
take the offensive until he had been reinforced, 
we ran for Kingston Harbour. We needed 
powder, shot and provisions, and troops 
were waiting there for transport to the head 
of the lake. But we missed a dandy chance 
of ending the war right then. Chauncey 's 
fleet was down to seven sail. We should 
have tackled them while it was blowing hard, 
for we never got so good a chance again. 

" It was a month to a day, the eleventh of 
September, before we next saw Chauncey's 
fleet. We had been cruising along the south 
shore, picking up what we could and prevent- 
ing American water communication with 
Niagara, when we got becalmed off the 
Genesee river. 

" We made out ten sail to the westward. 
All afternoon the} 7 slowly crawled to- 
wards us, while we lay without a breath in 
the canvas. By sunset they had come within 
two miles. We saw that Chauncey had got 
his new ship the Sylph afloat. She was a 
fine big schooner, bigger than the brig Oneida, 

75 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

and twice as handy. She had one of the little 
schooners in tow, and at that she kept up 
with the rest of the fleet. 

" The Pike towed the Oneida, and the 
Madison had a schooner astern, and the other 
schooners used long sweeps as usual to help 
out the light breeze. 

" They opened on us at twilight with their 
long guns. We were in a hole. The breeze 
hadn't reached us and we hadn't even steerage 
way. We couldn't turn so as to bring our 
few long guns to bear. There were only 
six guns in our whole fleet that could have 
reached them, anyway. 

" We were armed mostly with short carron- 
ades for broadside work, yard-arm to yard- 
arm — the same sort of thick-headedness at the 
Admiralty offices, I suppose, as sent out the 
rust-proof copper tanks for carrying fresh 
water, in a fleet that was floating in millions 
of gallons of it ! 

" We just had to lie there and get plugged. 
The poor old Melville, on the outside of our 
line, was nothing but a target float for them. 
When at last we began to feel a trickle of air 
we tried to beat up towards them, but they 
were to windward of us, and hauled away. 

" I've seen Sir James ready to explode 
pretty often, but never so blue-black in the 

76 



THE NIAGARA SWEEPSTAKES 

face as this time. After three hours and a 
half of being pummelled with his hands tied 
behind his back he took to his heels, ordered 
stun's'ls out, and stretched across to the 
False Ducks on our own side of the lake. 
He knew that if Chauncey followed him there 
he would have to fight on even terms, without 
the weather gauge. 

" That running fight kept up for two hours 
more, and by that time we had outsailed 
them so far even their longest guns wouldn't 
reach. But we had been badly cut up, with 
a midshipman and three men killed and seven 
chaps wounded, and the Melville so hulled 
that when we got to the shelter of Amherst 
island in the Bay of Quint e, where we buried 
our dead, she had to run her guns in on one 
side and out on the other to get at the shot 
holes with plugs. 

" And so the Circuit ended for a while. 
We'd been up and down Lake Ontario's two 
hundred miles' length and across and back 
Lake Ontario's fifty mile breadth, until we 
knew every maple tree on either shore, and 
the beef-bones from our galleys fairly made a 
reef along the lake bottom. Our next brush 
with the striped bunting was the Burlington 
Races." 



77 



r 



V 

The Escape of the " Slippery Six " 

A SEQUEL TO THE BURLINGTON RACES LEFT 
UNTOLD BY THE ANCIENT YARNER 

DOWN the lake came Chauncey rolling — 
Isaac Chauncey, the broad-beamed 
old Yankee Commodore, sore as a 
baited bear from his last brush off Burlington 
with Sir James Lucas Yeo. After a running 
fight of thirty miles the mauled British fleet 
had driven clear to a safe anchorage and given 
him the slip at the head of the lake. Chaun- 
cey was now following them up. Astern of 
his flagship, the General Pike, trailed the 
schooner Governor Tompkins, her bulwarks 
smashed and foremast gone, thanks to the 
guns of the Royal George. Near her the 
battered old brig Oneida limped along with 
a badly wounded main-topmast. The Pike 
herself had been through a severe mill. Her 
main topgallant-mast was gone. Cannon- 
balls had shattered her bowsprit and foremast, 

79 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

and they were " fished " until they looked like 
broken arms bound in splints. New wooden 
shot plugs made her sides bristle, but failed 
to stem the inflow of lake water. Her pumps 
clanged continuously. Her forecastle deck, 
where the starboard bowchaser had blown 
up, was a wreck, and four of her carronades 
had split their muzzles. Twenty-seven killed 
and wounded in the fight had been the toll 
the Pike paid. Perforated sails and new- 
spliced gear showed that the other vessels in 
the fleet had had their share of the iron shower; 
but the Pike had borne the brunt. 

" How did they get clear from Burlington ?" 
That was a question Chauncey asked him- 
self a dozen times and his officers more than 
once. 

He had not seen the perilous pilotage which 
had carried his foe to safety. All he knew 
was that they had clustered together in the 
very backwash of the beach like gulls riding 
on the undertow. He had watched them dis- 
appear, while he thrashed his own wounded 
flagship off the lee shore ; but whether they 
were no longer visible because shattered on 
the strand, or because, with sails lowered 
and topmasts housed, they were riding out 
the gale at anchor in the breakers, he could 
not tell. They were at least six miles to leeward 

80 



THE ESCAPE OF THE " SLIPPERY SIX " 

of him, at the fading end of a late September 
afternoon. To make out details at a league's 
distance was impossible, as he went storming 
back to Niagara. 

The days following the Burlington Races 
had been sullen, windless, and smooth except 
for the groundswell of the broken gale. 
The Lady of the Lake toiled, under sweeps, all 
the forty weary miles from the Niagara River 
to Burlington Bay. She came back, late at 
night, her crew dead-tired. The birds, she 
reported, had flown or foundered. She had 
not seen any wreckage on the beach, nor had 
she seen any vessels at anchor in the surf. 

Chauncey was almost inclined to believe 
that the fleet had driven ashore and been 
broken up and their wreckage burned by 
their despairing crews. But this he felt was 
too good to be true. So with the first fair 
wind he scurried down the lake to learn the 
worst — the conviction surely forming in his 
mind that Sir James Yeo was ahead of him, 
perhaps just beyond the horizon's rim. 

Great and small, the Yankee fleet of ten 
sail went pelting down Lake Ontario before a 
hard October nor' wester. The Commodore 
was as uneasy in mind as his ship was in hull. 
Those six British warships had doubled on 
him. They were either scurrying along the 

81 g 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

north shore, to reach their own base, Kingston, 
at the foot of the lake, for a refit ; or else they 
were scouring the south shore, raiding supply 
depots and picking up troopships between the 
Niagara and Sackett's Harbour, the American 
base. 

They were few but fierce, those Britishers. 
Two ships, two brigs, two schooners, they 
fought and sailed in squadron with the well 
oiled regularity of clockwork. Chauncey had 
had twice as many vessels. His own flag- 
ship was gunned so heavily that, on certain 
terms, she was a match for the entire British 
fleet combined. Yet he had chased the 
" Slippery Six " all year, from the day the 
ice left the lake harbours, and now, at the 
end of the season, there was nothing to show 
for his labour except the loss of four of his 
own vessels. Two Sir James Yeo had cap- 
tured in fair fight off Niagara, and two had 
foundered in the same waters, with all hands 
except the dozen-odd wretches Sir James had 
rescued. 

Past Long Point, the " furthest south " of 
Prince Edward County, the star-spangled 
fleet drove, at one o'clock in the afternoon of 
that grey fifth of October, 1813 ; past South 
Bay Point, Prince Edward's " furthest east," 
they ploughed at three. Then came the joyful 

82 



THE ESCAPE OF THE " SLIPPERY SIX " 

lookout-chorus " Sail ho ! Dead ahead ! " 
Every stitch the straining spars would stand 
was crowded on, and the distant specks rapidly 
took shape. 

" Not their fleet ! " exclaimed the Commo- 
dore, glaring through his long brass telescope. 
" Little sloops and schooners — gunboats or 
transports at the best. Well, we'll have 'em, 
anyway. But I wish they were Sir James 
Yeo's ' Slippery Six ! ' " 

The swift-sailing Sylph, heavy with long- 
range swivel guns, and the light despatch- 
schooner Lady of the Lake were detailed to 
hunt the quarry down. 

" It's odd," mused Chauncey, " that they 
don't haul their wind and dodge through the 
islands into the Bay of Quinte." But the 
transports, sheeting home stu'ns'ls and fly- 
by-nights, staggered on past the False Ducks 
and Timber Island, sheering away from the 
Upper Gap which led to safety amid the 
Quinte Shoals, and fanning out in the open 
lake on opposite tacks. Three drove north- 
east and four south-east, so as to divide their 
pursuers, and possibly escape. 

" Not by the Great Hook Block ! " thundered 
Chauncey, raging at their impudence. Next 
moment the dismasted Tompkins, cast adrift, 
rolled drunkenly in the trough of the sea. 

83 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Signal flags, snapping at the gaff-end, told 
the Sylph and Lady of the Lake to follow the 
three of the chase on the port tack, while the 
flagship ran down the four on the starboard. 
Her sister frigate, the President Madison, took 
charge of the squadron remaining. 

The great Pike, ten times the size of any of 
the vessels she was pursuing, came swooping 
upon her prey like an eagle upon a sparrow- 
flock. Three little ex-coasting schooners and 
a sloop-rigged gunboat were her quarry. 

" Bless my top-lights," chuckled the cap- 
tain of the maintop to his mates. " Two 
of them red-flags is the little Julia and 
Growler, captured from us off Niagara last 
August." 

The gunboat was the lame duck of the fleet, 
as one-masted vessels often are when squared 
dead before the wind. They crowded canvas 
on to her till she drove her bows under at 
every plunge and threatened to broach to, 
but she couldn't hold the pace. Suddenly 
her sails came flailing down, and two of the 
schooners ran alongside her. A swarm of 
redcoats and bluejackets tumbled over the 
bulwarks, out of the gunboat, and aboard 
the rescuers. Then the schooners made sail 
again, leaving their late companion a swaying, 
reeling pillar of smoke and flame. She burned 

84 



THE ESCAPE OF THE " SLIPPERY SIX " 

furiously and sank, a hissing, smoking ruin, 
as the pursuing battleship swept by. 

In the red anger of the October sunset the 
great ship came upon the three survivors. 
Towering above them half the height of their 
mastheads, her twenty-four guns, some of 
them split-lipped, grinned like the jaws of 
death. The red ensigns fluttered down, the 
transports Mary Ann, Hamilton and Con- 
fiance, mounting three pop-guns among them, 
were lawful prize to the United States ship 
Pike. 

" Welcome home, Julia ! " laughed the 
maintop men at the Hamilton's crew as she 
rolled in the lee of the big ship. " What you 
mean by taking such a name ? And the 
old Growler too ! Frenchified into Confiance, 
no less ! Never mind boys, the leg-irons 
in Sackett's Harbour'll keep you from galli- 
vanting any more." 

The tumbled crowd of seasick redcoats in 
the transports shouted back grim banter in 
return ; becoming prisoner of war had little 
novelty in the campaign of 1 8 13. A parole 
or exchange was always possible, and rations 
in the prison camps were sometimes better 
than on the firing line. The sea, running 
mountainous, prevented much transferring 
of prisoners, but the Pikes longboat, at the 

85 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

risk of stove-in gunwales, made her way to 
each craft with a prize crew and came back 
from each dragging a hawser. The flagship 
ran under easy sail for the lee of the Main 
Ducks, with her prizes towing astern. Here 
the main body of her fleet rejoined her. 
Hither, too, haled the Sylph another victim, 
the little cutter General Drummond. The 
Lady of the Lake hounded a fifth into the shoals 
between the Yorkshire Island and the Main 
Duck, and the Sylph, returning, waylaid her 
there. This last prize, the Lady Gore, with 
three guns, was the largest of the transport 
fleet. The sixth, a schooner called the Enter- 
prise, melted into the gathering gloom amonp 
the islands and escaped. 

Once the maintop men thought they saw a 
speck in the wake of the sinking sun. A 
second look proved that the speck had van- 
ished or had never been. And yet the 
prisoners seemed to take more interest in 
watching the sunset than might have been 
expected from seasick captives facing an 
alien jail. 

The Britishers' story was simple. They 
numbered nearly three hundred. Two hun- 
dred-and-thirty-four of them were soldiers 
of De Watteville's regiment who had been 
posted at Burlington Heights at the head of 

86 



THE ESCAPE OF THE " SLIPPERY SIX " 

the lake. They had sailed from York on 
Sunday, and were bound for Kingston. They 
had heard of the fight off Burlington the week 
before, and entertained their captors with 
yarns of how the British fleet had entered the 
harbour with blood running from their scup- 
pers, and shot-shattered spars falling over- 
board as they came to anchor. Where the 
fleet was now, of course, they couldn't tell ; 
probably unable to crawl out of Burlington. 

"I'd give a good deal," admitted Chauncey 
to himself when he heard their stories, " to 
know that I'd permanently crippled the 
' Slippery Six.' " 

At midnight, crowded to the bulwarks with 
British prisoners and their own troops from 
Niagara, the American fleet rounded old 
Shiphouse Point and entered Sackett's Harbour 
with their prizes in tow. The Lady of the 
Lake was sent back by morning light to see if 
the Sylph needed aid. She met that faithful 
watchdog with the Lady Gore at the end of a 
towline. 

But what were those towers of sail far up 
the Lower Gap, heading for Kingston ? A 
little masthead work quickly answered that 
question. Sir James Yeo, lying hidden in 
Burlington Bay till his foe left the field free, 
had trailed him down the lake and popped 

87 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

into the Bay of Quinte while the fleeing 
transports lured the enemy past the entrance ! 
The " Slippery Six," the thorns in Chauncey's 
side, were now serenely entering Kingston 
Harbour for a re-fit. The season devoted to 
their destruction had been wasted. Though 
this half dozen of small transports had faUen 
into the enemy's hands, the fighting strength 
of the British navy on Lake Ontario was 
unimpaired. The season's game was, at best, 
a draw. 

It was bad news to bring home the morning 
after a victory ! 

And how did they get clear from Burlington, 
as Chauncey asked for the last time ? 

When the gale lulled the hacked and hewed 
winners in the Burlington Races found them- 
selves in greater peril than they had been, 
even in the passage of the bar. They were 
safe in a landlocked harbour, but the water at 
the entrance had begun to ebb until it threat- 
ened to leave them imprisoned forever, like 
lily pads in a pond. 

11 Better wreck than rot ! " thundered Sir 
James Yeo. " Pilot, you brought us in here 
for golden guineas. Take us out now for 
the love of the flag ! " 

" Aye, aye, sir," answered the pilot, " but 
you must wait till the moon is full." 

SS 



THE ESCAPE OF THE " SLIPPERY SIX " 

" Don't try to tell me, man," Sir James 
answered, " there are tides on these lakes ! " 

" Don't try to tell me, sir," answered the 
pilot composedly, " that there ain't." 

His companions looked for an immediate 
call for the "cat," but the man went on. 

" There are tides on the lakes, Sir James ; 
but they ebb and flow by years, not by the 
twelve hours. One year the water's three feet 
higher all over than another. Why, no one 
knows. But apart from that, an easterly 
gale raises the water at this end of the lake, 
and a westerly lowers it, and raises it at 
Kingston. The water at the entrance is on 
the ebb now, because the lake's finding its 
level after the easterly that helped us in over 
the bar. The moon'll be full the night after 
next, and we'll get another shift of easterly 
wind. Then you can kedge out sir, and sail 
away as soon as it cants around to the nor'- 
west, as it's sure to do here in the fall of the 
year." 

The pilot's advice was taken. The battered 
squadron hauled far within the wooded banks 
of the bay, where the towering pines hid even 
the Royal George s topgallant-masts. Here 
shot-plugs were nastily driven into the scarred 
sides, and fresh spars cut for the shorn flag- 
ship. There was assistance in abundance, for 

89 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Burlington Heights, the limestone ridge behind 
the bay, were held by British troops. The 
peering Lady of the Lake ventured as close as 
she dared, but she could discover nothing 
from outside the harbour ; not even the 
canoes which waited to carry Sir James 
Yeo's message to the captains of certain 
tubby transports lying in York, a dozen 
leagues to the eastward. 

At the full of the moon the pilot's word was 
fulfilled. A light east breeze blew, foggy and 
dank. The water in the bay rose. The 
smaller vessels of the squadron were towed 
out over the bar. To them were ferried 
such guns and spars of the flagship and of 
the Royal George as could conveniently be 
slung by yard tackles or carried in boats. 
Next the kedges of the two large ships were 
planted in the deep water of the lake, and with 
hundreds of men to help heave the capstans 
round, the great hulls ground their way out 
over the bar, furrowing the entrance with 
their keels. 

Then came the welcome breath of the nor'- 
wester, and with guns in place again, yards 
aloft and topsails sheeted home, the " Slippery 
Six," battered but not beaten, went boldly 
on the track of the Commodore who fled while 
he thought he pursued. 

90 



VI 

The Boy Commander and the Widow 

WHY THE BATTLE OF LAKE ERIE OTHERWISE 
KNOWN AS THE BATTLE OF PUT-IN BAY WAS 
LOST AND WON 

UP, up, up to the flagship's fore-truck 
soared a ball of bunting. A jerk 
on the halliards, and the " blue 
peter," with its white square, was fluttering 
in the gentle morning breeze, and the harbour 
of Maiden, off Lake Erie, in the Detroit River, 
resounded with the clamour of a war fleet 
weighing anchor. 

Lean and keen as famine-smitten hawks, a 
motley crew swarmed the decks of the six 
vessels that formed his Britannic Majesty's 
squadron under the command of Robert 
Heriot Barclay, R.N., that fateful morning, 
the tenth of September, 1813. Canadian 
militia in green jackets and blue trousers, 
voyageurs and frontiersmen in deerskin leg- 
gings, regulars from the Fighting Forty-First 

91 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

and Royal Newfoundland Regiment — these 
were there in plenty, with Indian chiefs 
flaming in war-paint and feathers. There 
was a sprinkling, too, of lake sailors and boat- 
men in tarpaulin jumpers and oiled leather 
boots. And here and there, so rare as to be 
noticeable, a British bluejacket, fifty of them 
in the whole fleet, fifty man-o'-wars-men among 
six men-of-war ! The little company of blue- 
jackets was strengthened by eighty Canadian 
lake sailors, who had never heard a boat- 
swain's whistle till they joined the fleet, nor 
worked at gun drill in their lives ; two hun- 
dred and forty soldiers from the dismantled 
fort ; and a handful of savages, selected for 
their skill as sharpshooters from the hordes 
which hovered about the harbour. 

Things had gone ill at Maiden while the 
squadron waited for their new flagship. No 
longer dared the canoes and batteaux coast 
even the north shore of the lake. The enemy 
was in control. Not a trading sloop dared 
venture past Long Point. Everything, even 
flour for the daily bread, had to travel the 
terrible wilderness road from Burlington 
Heights at the head of Lake Ontario, two 
hundred miles away. It cost a shilling a pound 
to convey the roundshot for the guns from 
Quebec to Maiden ; eight dollars, in American 

92 



BOY COMMANDER AND THE WIDOW 

money, for one projectile for a heavy carron- 
ade. The guns themselves could not be 
brought up for less than their weight in silver. 
A set of anchors was worth the price of the 
small vessel that would have brought them, 
had the lake been clear. Ship-spikes were as 
precious as though they were gold headed. 
Of food, everything was lacking except beef ; 
the cattle could be driven along the wilder- 
ness trail. Even this provision began to fail, 
for the swarm of uncontrolled Indian allies 
feasted riotously when they willed, and even 
killed the precious bullocks for powder horns, 
leaving the carcasses to rot in the sun. 

The last bottle of wine christened the new 
ship for which the squadron waited. Detroit 
she was named, in honour of Brock's famous 
success near her birthplace. There was no 
banquet in celebration of the launching. 
Hunger snuffled, wolf-like, at the door. All 
knew that the fleet must be provisioned for a 
desperate attempt at re-opening communica- 
tion with Long Point as soon as the Detroit 
could be equipped. 

Where were her guns ? At Burlington 
Heights or some place between there and 
Quebec. Where were her men ? Still sail- 
ing the salt water, maybe, or playing hide- 
and-seek with Commodore Chauncey on Lake 

93 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Ontario. Message after message was sent 
through the wilderness ; but never did the 
shrill scream of the boatswain's pipes herald the 
coming of a reinforcement of man-o'-wars-men. 
Desperate cases call for desperate remedies. 
Barclay dismantled the Maiden fort ; he 
gathered up the field guns and battering 
artillery that had been at the attack on Fort 
Meigs, far away in Ohio. He took on board 
everything that would heave shot. In all, 
the Detroit displayed nineteen cannon, of 
six different calibres ; two long twenty-four- 
pounders ; one long eighteen, mounted on a 
pivot ; six long twelves ; eight long nines ; 
one twenty-four-pounder carronade, and one 
eighteen-pounder carronade ; the last two, 
and the eighteen-pounder on the pivot, 
being the only proper ship's guns. Having 
armed her, he waited one more day for men. 
All hands fell to with paint-brushes and 
arrayed the vessels in glittering black, with 
white and yellow port-bands, broken by black 
chequering. Red strakes at the waterline 
matched the ominous hue of the inner bul- 
warks and fighting stations. Deep crimson 
was used to hide the blood which was sure to 
flow. By night the little squadron of six 
lay at anchor in painted pride ; but no crews 
had come. 

94 



BOY COMMANDER AND THE WIDOW 

With morning's light the six ships sought 
the American fleet, lurking for weeks in 
wait among the western islands of the lake. 

" Thank the Lord we'll have a fight ! " went 
the word through the squadron. 

" Sooner fight than eat, eh ? " rumbled a 
tattooed man-o'-wars-man, whose pigtail 
marked him as a Nelson veteran. The sun- 
shine blazed back at him from the buckles 
which were the only remaining bright spots 
in the uniform of a Western Ranger. They 
were in a little group diligently weaving 
boarding nettings as the fleet dropped down 
the river toward the open lake. " Well, if 
we don't fight soon there'll be no eating, my 
hearty ! ' he went on. ' How's rations in 
the garrison ? " 

" Flour all gone ; some beef left ; allow- 
ances chopped in two," answered the soldier 
cheerily. " How are you off aboard here ? " 

" Half rations of hard tack and a little salt 
pork," volunteered the tar. " Blast my top- 
lights for ever leaving salt water ! I'd as 
soon perish of thirst in the Horse Latitudes 
as starve here in the midst of plenty — plenty 
of fresh water, and plenty of nothing else." 

" Lucky there's plenty of that," put in a 
gaunt pilot, " for after to-day they say the 
grog tub'll be empty." 

95 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

" Not unless Perry's turned Methodist," 
answered the bluejacket with a laugh, " we'll 
broach the Yankee Commodore's casks to- 
night." 

" That's right my lads," said a clear quick 
voice, "a. cheery heart's the best sheet anchor." 

The old tar tugged his forelock respect- 
fully as an epauletted officer passed the group. 
He was high coloured, straight as a keel timber, 
and swung along the quarter deck with jaunty 
grace despite an empty left coatsleeve. He 
was only twenty-eight. 

" Who's that ? " asked the soldier, new 
come from the wilds of Michillimackinac. 

" Who's that ? Who should it be but 
Commander Barclay, who got us into this 
hole and is going to get us out again, God 
bless him ! He's a fine lad, he is. I mind 
when he lost his arm eight years ago fightin' 
under Nelson at Trafalgar. That was the 
fight ! " 

" How did he get you into a hole ? " 
pursued the stranger. 

" A petticoat, of course," answered the 
tar, rather proudly. " Here he comes to 
this God-forsaken hole this spring from salt 
water, to take charge of the Lake Erie squadron. 
Here he meets prett} 7 Mrs. Blue Eyes, whose 
husband was killed at York, and who's waitin' 

96 



BOY COMMANDER AND THE WIDOW 

here with friends till it's safe to go down Lake 
Erie, to return to her wrecked home in her 
raided town. She's timid and sweet, and 
looks like a flower of the wilderness among the 
bouncing frontier lasses and comfortable 
ofhcers' ladies at this little port of Maiden. 
She means no harm ; neither does he ; only 
he sees all the time, through the long night 
watches on the lightless Erie shore " 

" Hard-a-lee, matey ! " interrupted the pilot. 
' You're sagging off into Sentiment Shoal. 
You see," addressing the soldier, " the Com- 
mander set about blockading Perry in the 
port of Presqu'isle. That's two hundred 
miles to the east of here, on the south shore 
of the lake. They call the town at that place 
Erie. That's where Perry, the Yankee com- 
mander, harboured the five little vessels he 
got from Buffalo — four he bought and one he 
caught under the guns of our shore batteries. 
And here he built five more, three little 
schooners, and two big brigs, bigger than 
either the Queen Charlotte or the Detroit. 
Barclay set about blockading him. Now, 
bluejacket, make sail with your ' lightless 
Erie shore.' " 

The tar shifted his " quid " and went on. 

" We lay outside the harbour bar of Presqu'- 
isle week after week, watching the vessels 

97 h 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

building inside. We couldn't stop them with 
our misfit, half-manned squadron of ex- 
merchantmen, and they couldn't drive us 
away. It all looked a silly waste of time. 
Their little vessels that could cross the bar 
could only worry the coasting trade. Their 
big brigs, of four times the burthen, drew so 
much water that they were bottled up by 
the bar quite as tight as we could blockade 
them. There was never more than seven 
feet of water on that bar ; sometimes only 
five, for we took soundings. 

" Through the long night watches the Com- 
mander's thoughts ran back to Maiden town, 
I know, for I heard him talk more and more 
with the first luff about how the new ship 
building there would settle the command of 
the lake, and how he wished to know how they 
were getting on with her. So nobody was 
surprised, when a nor'easter churned the 
harbour bar into a white smother and choked 
the channel with bursting breakers, that we 
made all sail for the head of the lake. And 
I for one wasn't surprised that we brought a 
passenger back with us as far as Port Dover." 

" The suppl> depot across the lake from 
Presqu'isle, behind Long Point," explained 
the pilot. 

" We landed Mrs. Blue Eyes there," went 

98 



BOY COMMANDER AND THE WIDOW 

on the bluejacket, " after carrying a press of 
canvas, day and night. The ' Old Man ' — 
poor lad, he's not thirty yet, but every 
captain's the ' old man ' to his own crew — he 
was worried about the fleet inside the bar, 
but the bigwigs at Port Dover wouldn't 
listen to anything but that he should stay 
over just for the night. They had a banquet 
for him and his officers. And Mrs. Blue 
Eyes, trembling with gratitude for the way 
he had saved her from two hundred miles 
of the pack trail, she asked him to stay too. 
And he stayed, and they drank the health of 
' King George III., God bless him,' and ' the 
Prince Regent, God bless him,' and ' the bar 
of Presqu'isle, God bless it, and long may it 
pen up Perry's brigs,' and so on. 

" But he came on board after midnight, 
very straight, very short-tongued. I found 
out what had happened, never mind how. 
Mrs. Blue Eyes, with a woman's wit , had guessed 
something. She was a frightened little thing, 
but brave. When he tried to raise her fingers 
to his lips at parting she had gently, so gently, 
touched his empty sleeve and said, ' You 
fought under Nelson, sir ; I shall think of you 
as always remembering the great signal 
"England expects " — and then she ran away, 
sobbing, knowing that without meaning it 

99 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

she had made him forget his duty. But the 
words burnt the boy's brain. 

" He ordered all sail at once for the 
south'ard, and with stu'ns'ls set and the can- 
vas dripping from steady wettings to make it 
catch every breath, the fleet strained through 
the dark for the Erie shore sixty miles away. 
He walked the deck all night. 

" At sunrise the wind dropped. It was a 
blazing, cloudless, August morning. The lake 
was smooth as glass. The south shore was 
plain in sight. From the deck we could see 
the blockhouses guarding Presqu'isle, and, 
terribly plain, one large brig anchored outside 
the bar, with a cluster of small craft around 
her. From the cross-trees, with a spy-glass 
I soon saw how she had got there. 

" The second large brig was being towed 
to the crossing. She floated two feet higher 
than her proper waterline. Barges and boats 
followed her, loaded with her great guns, 
smaller spars, gear, anchors and cables. At 
the bar she grounded. Then two great scows, 
fifty feet long and ten feet wide and eight 
feet deep, I should say, were pushed along- 
side her and filled with water. Beams were 
run across the brig's deck, through her bow 
ports and quarter ports. The ends hung over 
the sunken scows. The space between the 

100 






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BOY COMMANDER AND THE WIDOW 

scows and beams was blocked up, and hun- 
dreds of soldiers and sailors began to pump 
and bail. As the scows were emptied they 
rose, lifting the brig full two feet. She was 
towed forward until she grounded again. 
Then they lifted her again with these ' camels ' 
and floated her out into the lake. The small 
craft swarmed around her, her guns, gear, 
spars, and anchors were slung aboard with 
tackles from the masts and yards, and before 
the faint breeze crept down to us we saw the 
broad pennant of Commander Perry fluttering, 
and knew that the worst had happened. The 
enemy had command of the lake. All there 
was left for us to do was to hurry to Maiden, 
to wait until the flagship was ready. And 
that is how we came to starve in the river 
mouth there." 

The yarn ended abruptly. 

The cry of " Sail ho ! " from the flagship's 
main cross-trees was echoed by the lookouts 
through the fleet, and followed immediately 
by the throb of drums beating to quarters and 
the shrilling of boatswains' whistles. Soldiers, 
landsmen, and fresh water sailors were bundled 
about by the few bluejackets until they found 
their stations for pulling and hauling and 
passing powder and shot. All knew the 
enemy had been sighted and soon they were in 

IOI 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

plain view from the deck — nine sail in all, gay 
with banners of fifteen bars and fifteen stars, 
the American flag of the day. They tacked 
clear of the Bass Islands, among which was 
their lair, Put-In Bay, and then came slant- 
ing on. The breeze had shifted from south- 
west to south-east, giving them the coveted 
weather gauge, and the British fleet had to 
await their coming. 

" Heave-to ! " the hail was passed, and, dip- 
ping and rising gently on the smooth swell the 
fleet lay stationary, pointed south-west, with 
topsails to the mast. Ahead of the British 
line lay the seventy-ton schooner Chippeway, a 
mere pilot boat, with one nine-pounder gun, 
and a crew of fifteen men. Next stood the 
flagship Detroit, of seven times her tonnage 
and ten times her crew. On her quarter lay 
the tiny brig Gen. Hunter, of eighty tons and 
ten guns — but her armament included cannon 
firing two and four pound shot, like the toy 
guns in modern pleasure yachts. Astern of 
her rode the former flagship, Queen Charlotte, 
smaller than the Detroit, but heaving more 
shot at short range. Next lay the schooner 
Lady Prevost. She was backed by the one- 
masted Little Belt, a sloop like the Chippeway 
but mounting three guns. 

From their station in the maintop, where 

102 



BOY COMMANDER AND THE WIDOW 

the bluejacket and the ranger were posted 
to help work the ship and fire muskets with the 
sharpshooters, the whole battle water seemed 
spread out as a map. The American fleet ap- 
proached silently in the gentle breeze as fast 
as a man could walk. 

" That clipper schooner in the lead's the 
Ariel " explained the bluejacket. " Next's 
the Scorpion. The big brig behind her's 
Perry's flagship, the Lawrence — the first one 
over Presqu'isle Bar. See her big blue flag, 
with the white letters ! I'll lay a day's 
allowance it says ' Don't give up the ship ! ' 
That's what the Chesapeake' s captain that 
she's named for said when they carried him 
below, dying from the Shannon's broadside. 
And that little brig fussing along with all sail 
is the Caledonia the fur-trader Capt. Elliott 
cut out for them from under our batteries 
at Fort Erie. And the big brig, backing her 
topsail to keep from running over the little 
tub, is the Niagara, the second one that got 
over the bar. Elliott sails her. I know 'em 
all. That's the Somers, the schooner astern 
of the Niagara. The next schooner's the 
Porcupine, and the next's the Tigress. Quills 
and fangs ! I should say so ! Look at the 
big guns those little schooners mount — long 
thirty-two-pounders, twelve pounds heavier 



103 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

than anything in our fleet. That sloop last 
of all is the Trippe. Where's the Ohio ? 
They had another schooner. Must have sent 
her back for supplies." 

There was a loud rapping aloft. The 
colours were being nailed to the mast. Soldiers, 
sailors, and lubbers alike burst into a cheer. 
Then the fifes and bugles struck up ' Rule 
Britannia ! ' and four hundred voices roared 
in full-throated chorus : 

" Britons never, never, never shall be slaves ! " 

In the hush that followed, the tinkle of 
"seven bells" — half-past eleven — came 
floating across the water from friend and foe, 
solemn as a sexton's knell. Then was heard 
the sifting, sizzling sound of sand being 
scattered on the decks — sand to soak up the 
slippery blood. A puff of smoke sprang from 
the heavy long-range gun in the Scorpion. 
The report was drowned in the thunderclap 
of the Detroit's artillery — and the battle had 
begun. 

Concussions as of a bursting volcano shook 
the ship. Her masts tottered like hop-poles. 
The bluejacket, used to the terrific ex- 
plosions, jammed his thumbs into his ears 
and rose on his toes. Blood burst from the 
soldier's ears and mouth. An Indian chief, 

104 



BOY COMMANDER AND THE WIDOW 

placed in the maintop as a sharpshooter, 
hurled his musket into the lake with a shriek 
and scrambled down the rigging. As he reached 
the bulwarks he was drenched by the blood 
of an unfortunate gunner, whose head was 
severed at the moment by a plunging round- 
shot from the Lawrence's bowchaser. The 
savage rushed down a hatchway and hid from 
the terrible thunder in the depths of the 
hold. 

" Cheer-up, matey, and tip-toe as they 
fire ! " bawled the bluejacket between broad- 
sides. " We've more long guns aboard the 
Detroit than both Yankee brigs, and we can 
hold 'em while the range ain't too short. 
But sink-and-split me, look how they're 
working our guns ! The tubes and matches 
won't burn, and the lads have to flash flint- 
lock pistols at the touch-holes ! Look at 'em ! 
Listen ! A pistol volley just afore every 
broadside ! " Then the thick, pungent, 
powder smoke blotted everything out below, 
though aloft in the bright sunshine glittered 
now a Union Jack, now the Stars and Stripes, 
now the blue flag with the motto in white. 
The American van schooners with their 
heavy long guns, lay just out of range and 
fired steadily at the largest British targets. 
The Lady Prevost, with captain and lieutenant 

105 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

killed and rudder smashed, fell off, unman- 
ageable, taking with her thirteen guns. The 
Lawrence closed in, until her short, heavy 
thirty-two-pounder carronades found their 
mark. With the support of the schooners ahead 
and the lumbering Caledonia astern she was 
heaving a heavier broadside than the entire 
British fleet — 492 pounds to their 459. 

But the two British three-masters, ranged 
bow and stern, fought like wounded lions 
with their cubs around them. Their sails 
were like sieves, their decks so cluttered 
that the dead had to be thrown overboard 
to give the living room to right. In the first 
broadside the Queen Charlotte lost her 
seasoned commander, Capt. Finnis, and first 
lieutenant Stokoe was knocked senseless. 
Irvine, the brave Canadian who took charge, 
steered her past the little Hunter, with her 
pitiable pop-guns, and concentrated her fire 
on the thunder-belching Lawrence. The 
second gun in the American Scorpion exr 
ploded and rolled down a hatchway, and one 
of the Ariel's twelve-pounders burst. Broad- 
side after broadside of shilling-a-pound round- 
shot the raw British crews hove into the 
enemy's flagship, with the steadiness of 
veterans, until her starboard side was a 
wreck, her gear so cut up that she could not 

106 



BOY COMMANDER AND THE WIDOW 

be handled, and every gun aboard but one 
disabled. Commander Perry, the chaplain, 
and the purser, fired the one remaining gun. 
Of the crew of 103 men, twenty-two had been 
killed and sixty-one wounded. The blood 
oozed through the deck-seams upon the 
wretches in the cockpit, and cannon balls, 
tearing through from side to side, found their 
victims even under the surgeons' knives. 
And all the while the Lawrence's twin sister 
Niagara sulkily stuck to her appointed 
station in the line — astern of the waddling 
little Caledonia and out of the battle-brunt. 
" Look-ye, Brassbound," exclaimed the blue- 
jacket joyfully. ' The blue flag's coming down 
from the Lawrence's truck and Perry's pennant 
is being lowered too ! They're striking ! " 

" Looks to me not," answered the ranger, 
ramming home a powder wad. " Her Stars 
and Stripes are still up ! " 

' Oh, poor Barclay lad ! " broke in the tar. 
" They're carrying him below. He's been 
hit eight times this day — I've seen him wince 
and get his gashes tied, for I've watched him 
like my own boy. The only arm he's got's 
all mangled, and now he's hit in the thigh. 
God help him and God help us ! Look at 
poor Garland, the first luff, lying dead at 
the foot of the mizzen ! " 

107 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

A lifting in the smoke showed a rowboat 
shooting from the Lawrence's side. Four 
seamen pulled with might and main. In the 
stern sheets stood a youth strangely arrayed. 
He wore the full uniform of an American 
commander, even the stiff hat ; and about 
him he had draped his own broad-pennant, 
and the blue silk banner with the words " Don't 
give up the ship ! " It was Oliver Hazard 
Perry. The American commander was 
transferring his flag in the midst of a battle 
that had almost proved a disaster ; com- 
bining a piece of sound strategy with almost 
unbelievable stageplay. He was young, 
younger even than Barclay — just twenty- 
seven. The one was heroic and ver}' human. 
The other was very heroic and very theatrical. 

The deed looked like that of a play-actor. 
It proved an act of genius. Through the 
lashing of canister that made the water boil, 
while roundshot whizzed overhead, the boat 
reached the Niagara's side unscarred. It 
barely paused there. Perry scrambled over 
the bulwarks of the new brig ; Jesse D. 
Elliott, her late commander, tumbled into the 
boat, speaking-trumpet in hand, and pulled 
off to berate and belabour and bring up the 
laggards who had been following his own 
example. There were men, 'tis said, who 

108 



BOY COMMANDER AND THE WIDOW 

bore to their dying day scars on their faces 
of blows from his brass trumpet. The 
shattered Lawrence now floated, unmanage- 
able and flagless, amid thin British cheering. 
All the small boats aboard the British ships 
had been shot to staves, so there was no way 
of putting a prize crew aboard her. Sheeting 
home her topgallant sails the Niagara passed 
the hulk and steered for the British line. 

Young Lieutenant Ingles sighted the fresh 
foe through the pall, and tried to oppose to 
her the Detroit's uncrippled starboard broad- 
side. 

" All hands wear ship ! ' his order rang. 
" Queen Charlotte ahoy ! Bear away and 
bring your other broadside into action ! ' 
Of the ship's company of a hundred and fifty 
" all hands " who could pull a rope now 
numbered less than two score. Redcoats 
who knew not the mainbrace from the peak 
halliards fumbled among the corpses for the 
ends of running gear, which came loosely 
down when pulled — shot away aloft. The 
very wheel chains were loaded with clustered 
dead. The Detroit swung in a vague circle. 
The Queen Charlotte, staggering as wildly, 
ranged up on her, and the two wrecks locked 
their splintered spars. 

" Fill the foretops'l and shoot her clear ! ' 

109 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

the sailing-master was ordered, and every 
man who could move in both ships forsook 
the guns to fend off and disentangle the 
grinding hulls. As they shoved and twisted 
the terrible thunder of the Niagara spoke 
in double diapason. Three hundredweight 
of shot from her port broadside crashed into 
the Chippeway, Little Belt, and Lady Prevost, 
huddled to one side ; three hundredweight 
from the starboard broadside ripped and 
mangled the shattered hulls of the Detroit 
and Queen Charlotte as they drifted apart. 
The long guns of the smaller American 
vessels were concentrated on the clustered 
target. The reeking British ships were 
slaughterhouses. Ninety-four wounded and 
forty-one killed strewed the decks. 

" Tell me what's happening ! " groaned the 
ranger. A musket ball had scored a gash 
across his forehead. " I can't see for blood ! " 
" Thank God then ! " yelled back the blue- 
jacket. " I wish I'd been bom blind ! " 
The scuppers are choked with human hair 
and brains, so the deck swims in blood ! 
Bits of cloth, and men's hands, and splintered 
bones hang on the jagged ends of the plank- 
ing ! And Rough Bruin, the Commander's 
pet bear, has broken out of his pen and is 
ranging around the deck. Oh God ! He's 

no 



BOY COMMANDER AND THE WIDOW 

lapping blood ! He's eating human flesh ! 
Gimme your musket quick or I'll go mad ! " 

Suddenly the uproar of firing ceased. A 
boarding pike was waving above the bulwarks 
of the Queen Charlotte. On the end of it was 
a white tablecloth, smirched with blood. A 
bugle screamed like a settling eagle. Then 
a wild chorus of cheers, near and far — 
" Free trade and sailors' rights ! " " Don't 
give up the ship ! " " Fire faster ! " and all 
the old-time American sea-slogans roared 
from throats black with powder smoke. 
Every British ensign had been shot away or 
hauled down, except aboard the Chippeway 
and Little Belt. They crowded on studding- 
sails and flying canvas, but the Scorpion and 
Tripp e, under sails and sweeps, hunted them 
down. The battle ended with the shot from 
the Scorpion which brought the Chippeway 
to, even as by a shot from the Scorpion it 
had been begun. 

The victor proved himself still the actor- 
hero. To the shambles-ships he sent his 
barge. In her were gathered the British 
officers, even the wounded commander. Back 
she pulled, not to the spick and span Niagara 
but to the battered Lawrence, over which the 
Stars and Stripes again flew. Here, on the 
quarter deck he had quitted to save the day 

in 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

for himself, Perry, standing like a statue, 
received the vanquished. They had to make 
their way to him through heaps of shot- 
mangled bodies, amid dismounted cannon 
and the ruin of deck-fixtures, rigging, and 
sails, while the wounded moaned in their 
agony, and new-made prisoners toiled with 
American tars at the pump-brakes to keep 
the wreck afloat. The British officers pre- 
sented their swords. He silently accepted 
them one by one, and returned them. Doffing 
his hat he used it as a writing desk for his 
famous despatch : — 

" We have met the enemy and they are 
ours." 

Then, suddenly throwing aside his actor's 
cloak, he revealed himself as the young, 
warm-hearted, impulsive sailor, succouring 
fellow-mariners in distress. No kindness was 
too great to show his unfortunate guests. 
The wounded were tended, the hungry fed, 
the weary rested as though they were his own 
shipmates. He was many-sided, was the 
victor of Lake Erie. 

When the midnight moon rode high in the 
heavens fifteen ships with shot-torn sails and 
tottering spars crawled in long caravan to- 
wards the wooded islands on the eastern 
horizon. In the wake of the fleet ripples 

112 



BOY COMMANDER AND THE WIDOW 

spread and widened — ripples not of the 
furrowing keels, but from bundles dropped 
overside, sheeted and shot-weighted. The 
groans of nigh two hundred wounded, the 
clang of the pump-brakes and sobbing of 
water in the scuppers, wove the requiem of the 
seventy souls who perished in the Battle of 
Put-In Bay. 

And on the other side of Burlington 
Heights the little widow wept and wept. 



113 



VII 

A Resurrection on the Shores 
of Graveyard Pond 

ACROSS a stretch of wind-whipped 
water lies a waste of rocks and sand. 
Outside, Lake Erie creams, and 
curls, and croons a ceaseless song. Inside, 
the wild rice grows, and ducks feed, and great 
red-hulled whalebacks swing at anchor, await- 
ing the call of more cargoes of iron ore. In 
the background loom the steel-plant chimneys 
and church-spires of the city of Erie against a 
frieze of Pennsylvanian hills. But the sand- 
rib itself, which shuts off the harbour from the 
lake, is wilderness as wild as when the French 
voyageurs named it the Presqu'isle a century 
and a half ago. 

A loop within a loop, Misery Bay opens off 
the harbour. An inner loop still, traced by a 
string of tree-grown sandbar, is Graveyard 
Pond. Brave the duck-hunter who tarries 
there long after dark. The corpse-lights 

115 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

dance on the smooth black water every still 
night, and when the scud racks across the 
face of the moon and the mighty lake heaves 
and tosses the woods resound with groans. 

It is perfectly in accord with Nature that 
the will-o'-the-wisp should shine above 
masses of vegetation decaying in stagnant 
water when the wind is resting. It is per- 
fectly in accord with Nature that the writhing 
boughs of oak, and elm, and ash, and maple 
should creak and complain when the gale 
stirs the forest. And it is perfectly in accord 
with phantasy that these things should be in 
the spot where a century since fever-ships 
swung drearily at anchor day after day, and 
night after night landing parties of the smitten 
crews rowed ashore with muffled oars and 
carried swathed burdens across the sand-rib 
to the silent mere. 

Any map of Erie Harbour will show you 
Misery Bay and Graveyard Pond in plain 
print. They had been thus inscribed so 
long that men had forgotten why. With the 
coming of 191 3 came also a stirring of old 
men's memories of their grandfather's tales 
of the suffering of the crews aboard the Upper 
Lakes squadron when Great Britain and the 
United States were enemies. For Erie, you 
must know, was the American naval base for 

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A RESURRECTION 

all the operations west of Niagara in the War 
of 1812. 

'Twas to Erie that Daniel Dobbins, of the 
Mackinaw packet Selina, piloted the little 
fleet of ex-merchantmen that had been fitted 
out by the Americans at Black Rock, on the 
Niagara River, through the winter of 1812-13 — 
the captured British brig Caledonia, the pur- 
chased sloop Contractor, and the schooners 
Amelia and Catherine. 

'Twas at Erie the Scorpion, Porcupine, 
Ariel and Ohio were built for the war, along 
with the brigs Lawrence and Niagara. The 
Contractor became the Trippe, the Catherine 
the Somers, and the gentle Amelia the fierce 
Tigress. Such changes does war work. 

'Twas to Erie the fleet returned, after a 
partial refit at Put-In Bay, with six captured 
British vessels in tow. In Erie Harbour 
they often lay ; at times in painted pride, 
flaunting their flags of triumph and making 
the woods resound with their joyous gunshots, 
at times surmounted by the drooping yellow 
pennants of pestilence ; and then at last, 
grim, and gaunt, and ungainly, with decks 
housed over and brooms at their mast-heads, 
dumbly calling for purchasers. For the war 
was over, disarmament agreed upon, and even 
in their day the shrill whistle and clattering 

117 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

paddle-boxes of the W alk-in-tke-W ater had 
sounded steam's knell for the sailing vessel 
on the Great Lakes. 

Mightiest of all the warships Erie Harbour 
ever sheltered was the twenty-gun brig 
'Niagara, which turned the tide of victory 
in that great Battle of Lake Erie off Put-In 
Bay, September ioth, 1813. 

With what terrible splendour must this 
vessel have burst upon the sight of Robert 
Heriot Barclay, the gallant young British 
commander ! 

Outnumbered in vessels, guns and sailors, 
this one-armed hero of the Trafalgar school 
had held his formidable foe at bay. Nay more, 
he had battered him out of his flagship and 
forced her to strike. Then, wounded for the 
ninth time in two hours, his remaining arm 
shattered, he was carried below. As he passed 
to the surgeon's cockpit, through the blood- 
mist and the powder smoke, there loomed at 
him a vision, a sight he may have attributed 
to his fainting state. For the brig he had 
cannonaded till she lay a hulk, unmanageable, 
flagless and silent, her gear a tangled maze, 
her scuppers running blood, seemed by some 
miracle to have sprung into being afresh. 
She came on, driving straight through the 
battle-broken British line, belching broadsides 

118 



A RESURRECTION 

to port and btarboard. Her sails swelled 
in smooth unspotted squares, her black-and- 
white bulwarks showed no trace of shot- 
splintering, her crew thronged their stations 
in the tops or at the guns or by the water- 
buckets ranged along the gangway, without 
a gap in their ranks. The sanded deck showed 
never a stain. From truck and peak streamed 
the very colours which a few moments before 
had been fought to apparent extinction — even 
the Commodore's bread-pennant, and the 
great square of blue silk with the white letters 
proclaiming Captain Lawrence's last words in 
the deadly Chesapeake-Shannon grapple : 
" Don't give up the ship ! " 

Such was the Niagara as Barclay saw her. 
Well may he have deemed her the ghost of 
the Lawrence — namesake of the Chesapeake's 
captain — which he had fought, broadside to 
broadside, for " four glasses," or two hard 
hours. For the Niagara was the Lawrence's 
twin sister. By some unexplained whim of 
conduct the fire-eating Jesse Elliott, who 
commanded the Niagara, had held on the 
very outskirts of the fighting line, until the 
Lawrence, Perry's flagship, had been bruised 
to a pulp. Yet his tardiness proved the 
salvation of the American fleet. The resource- 
ful Perry, hauling down his pennant and 

119 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

motto flag, rowed to the hesitating Niagara, 
bustled her commander off in a boat to hasten 
the other laggards of the fleet, and took pos- 
session of the brig himself. Thus with a 
fresh ship and crew he sprang upon a foe 
already gasping from a long-sustained unequal 
combat, and victory was his. 

And now, would you see the Niagara as 
she showed to twentieth century eyes in the 
keen spring sunlight of 1913 ? 

Boring through the yellow-capped combers 
that fled before an equinoctial gale the har- 
bour-master's bullet-nosed launch landed us 
at last on that waste of rocks and sand which 
fences Misery Bay from the rage of the three- 
hundred-mile lake. There, high on the wrinkled 
sand of the peninsula, lay something a round 
century out of place — a crumpled brown 
conglomeration of weed-grown, water-sodden 
timber, scarce held together by the girding 
chains which had grappled it and raised it 
from an ancient grave. At first it seemed 
shapeless, unreal, fantastic as some huge 
monster haled from the oozy depths of the 
Graveyard Pond behind the tree-fringed 
shore. 

Yet, as the unaccustomed brain began to 
interpret what the eyes unfolded, the mass 
resolved itself into a recognized shape — that 

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A RESURRECTION 

of a vessel. The idea gradually unfolded. 
She was a ship, shorn of her spars, eaten away 
plank by plank, by eighty-eight years sub- 
mersion, railing and bulwarks gone, yet still a 
ship. All trace of her decks had disappeared, 
save one huge curved beam, the last of the 
hundred that had helped bear the burden of 
her twenty carronades. 

All her upper works, all her deck-fixtures, 
had been wrenched and torn by the ice of 
winter and the waves of summer ; and her 
rudder was gone. She lay open to the sky 
as a split bean-pod. 

Her aged keel showed on the sand, with a 
shoe projecting below her hull to give her a 
grip on the water, and a narrow keelson inside 
to stiffen the backbone. Her timbering here 
was not as heavy as one would expect, the 
pieces having apparently been not more than 
twelve inches square originally. 

But her ribs were many and thick. Side 
by side from stem to stern they ran — not 
spaced on twelve or twenty-four-inch centres, 
as a modern shipwright would have them in a 
vessel of this size. They had been timbers 
six inches square or larger — and, one would 
say at the first glance, of any tree that came 
to the builder's hand. You would find a 
rib of white oak, then one of red cedar, then 

121 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

some more of oak, then chestnut, or elm, then 
one of black walnut, then perchance one of 
poplar or cucumber-wood, and back to the 
first choice, oak, again. 

The plan of old Daniel Dobbins and his 
carpenters of 1813 stands out clearly. They 
used oak or similar hard woods for structural 
strength, wherever required. They had all 
the forests of Pennsylvania growing right up 
to their shipyard. They used the lighter 
woods for " fillers " for two reasons : it was 
more speedily worked, and if rent and gouged 
by the plunging cannon-balls it would splinter 
less easily. As they worked up from the 
keel they put more and more of the soft wood 
into the ship's sides. Thus the more exposed 
parts would be more easily repaired, and their 
destruction would result in less injury to the 
ship's crew. Splinter wounds were always 
a large surgeon's item in an engagement. 

This battered old basket, dumbly waiting 
there that March morning her restoration, 
in order to take part in a Great Lakes pageant 
in celebration of her triumphs of a century ago, 
told more of the meaning of " wooden walls " 
than a dozen volumes on naval architecture. 

As her hull showed, the builder of 1813 
first shaped a ship entirely of upright pieces 
of timber, six or eight inches thick, contiguous 

122 




STARBOARD QUARTER OF THE NIAGARA MIK WAKTV APPEAR 

OF HER PLANKING WHERE I II K ACID tFIKES II VS I 

THE OAK 



A RESURRECTION 

from stem to stern, from breast-hook to 
transom. These uprights, or " ribs," he 
covered with a heavy sheathing of hardwood — 
three-inch oak in the case of the Niagara. 
Inside, he spread another layer of wood — 
two-inch pine. This made a solid wall of 
timber, one foot through. The heaviest shot 
he expected to receive was from thirty-two- 
pounders. Their balls were six inches in 
diameter. The majority of the vessels the 
Niagara had to meet threw twelve-pound 
shot or smaller. The little missiles — no bigger 
than hand-balls of to-day — may be seen in 
plenty in the Erie Museum, plucked from the 
wounds of the Niagara s twin sister, the 
Lawrence. Against such a battering the 
twelve inches of wood offered fair protection. 

Century-old oakum — threads of hemp, 
soaked in tar — bulged from the seams of the 
Niagara's planking. This caulking revealed 
another long-lost custom. The seams had 
been " payed " — that is levelled up — with 
molten lead. The present practice is to 
employ tallow or putty. The use of lead 
goes back to the time of the Spanish Armada. 

One of the curiosities of decay in the 
Niagara was the warty appearance of all her 
exterior planking. The little protuberances, 
which at first glance seemed to be knots of 

123 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

tougher grain than the rest of the planking, 
were actually only the wood surrounding the 
spike heads. The acid of the iron had har- 
dened the oak for a radius of an inch or so, 
and preserved it against decay, while sur- 
rounding surfaces had been ground away by 
a century of water friction. 

Grimmest of all the reminders of the old 
ship's history were the squares of gun-ports 
still showing in her battered sides. The 
openings for the guns measured three feet 
wide by four feet high. Between each, some- 
what above the level of the long vanished 
deck and port-sills, were small openings, six 
inches square. Amateur historians have de- 
clared these to be " peep holes," from which 
the guns could be sighted without exposing 
the head of the marksmen above the bulwarks. 
The assumption is reasonable, although it 
involves the difficulty of taking aim from a 
position below the level of the gun barrel 
and half a fathom on either side of it — a 
position attainable also only by crouching 
close to the deck. The squares are explained 
by others to have been scuppers of the 
' shutter ' type. These are still much fav- 
oured on the Great Lakes among vessels 
which require a rapid clearance of water from 
their decks. A hinged and slanting lid 



124 




■' - 



A RESURRECTION 

prevents the entrance of water from without 
and facilitates its escape from within. Such a 
contrivance would undoubtedly be appreci- 
ated in the old war brigs whose decks literally 
swam with gore in the Battle of Lake Erie. 
But the openings are rather high in the bul- 
warks to have served this purpose. 

A model of the Niagara's sister ship, the 
Lawrence, in the Erie Museum is vouched for 
by the signatures of three old sailors who were 
familiar with her appearance in their boyhood. 
Their only criticism of it is that its sides 
should show more tumble-home. The model 
presents a squat, full-bowed brig, enormously 
wide and very flat. It quite agrees with the 
old hull lying on the shore of Misery Bay. 
Of the authenticity of the hulk itself there 
could be no doubt. Her gunports and her 
leaded seams proved her a member of the 
ancient war fleet. The size corresponded with 
the preserved dimensions, no feet length, 
30 feet beam, and 9 feet depth of hold. 

The remaining iron work on her was un- 
questionably ancient. For example, her rud- 
der was not hung on straps, but by fitting 
pintles into iron-banded gudgeons. The great 
eye-bolts in her ribs, to which the gun tackles 
were hooked, offered curious proof of the 
primitive limitations of ship-building in Erie 

125 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

early in the nineteenth century. It was 
apparently impossible to thread the bolts 
and tighten them with nuts. The old ship- 
smiths got over the difficulty by fitting a 
plate over the end of the bolt, and holding it 
in position by means of a " toggle," or iron 
key, driven through a slot in the bolt point. 

Another antique bit of ship carpentry was 
the provision of pairs of great wooden knees, 
formed from the natural crook of oak roots, 
to take up the in-pull of the straining rigging 
just abaft the foremast and mainmast. These 
were placed immediately below the deck and 
clamped both to the deck beams and the 
ship's ribs. Only three of the original eight 
were left in the brig. 

Dismantled after the peace of 1815 the 
Niagara lost her occupation completely upon 
the disarmament agreement of three years 
later date. She was sunk at her moorings in 
1825, the unseasoned timber of her hasty 
construction being then considerably decayed. 
There on the bottom of Misery Bay, sixteen 
feet below the surface, she lay for eighty-eight 
years. Raising her proved a task of con- 
siderable delicacy. Divers passed chains under 
her, and made the ends fast to great beams 
supported on a little flotilla of pontoons — 
two of eighty-ton lifting power, and four more 

126 




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A RESURRECTION 

of twenty tons each. Link by link the chains 
were taken up by purchases, and as the hulk 
rose from her muddy bed she was cautiously 
edged shoreward, so that she was always 
nearly resting on the bottom. In this way 
the wrecking crew tried to avoid straining 
her, but despite the utmost care the lifting 
chains gored deeply into her weakened sides. 

Taking advantage of the high water caused 
by an equinoctial hurricane the wrecking 
crew floated her fairly on to the beach, and 
then ran her out on " butter boards," or 
skidways. Their task ended with landing 
her. A large commission, representative of 
Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Illinois, Wis- 
consin, New York, Rhode Island, Kentucky, 
and Minnesota states, had undertaken the 
still more delicate task of rehabilitating the 
decrepit warship in her ancient splendour, 
and sending her on a tour of the Great Lakes, 
culminating in prolonged celebrations at Put- 
In Bay, the scene of her greatest triumph. 

One of the finds of the wrecking crew was 
an ancient bayonet, rust-eaten but serviceable, 
in the brig's forepeak. They also found 
numerous weapons of a much homelier char- 
acter — ice hooks, grapnels, pike points, anchor 
arms — all left by relic hunters. For three- 
quarters of a century the old veteran had to 

127 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

withstand their attacks. On her reappear- 
ance on the surface she was threatened with 
immediate dismemberment from the same 
source. But the Inter-State Board of the 
Perry's Victory Centennial Commissioners 
took time by the forelock. They not only 
put the relic hunters to flight, but they issued 
strict orders that the hulk was not even to be 
photographed. The wrecking firm swathed 
their prize in canvas and tarpaulins thoroughlv, 
but March gales were kind to the camera. 
It was impossible to keep covers over a 
hundred-foot hulk while the wind was 
unroofing houses in the surrounding country. 

Accurate pictures of the resurrected Niagara 
have a value beyond the mere satisfaction 
of curiosity. They are the best existin 
record of the original ship ; for she was so 
far decayed that the process of fitting her 
for a voyage along the thousand mile water- 
way to the head of the Great Lakes would 
necessarily obliterate much of her. 

This lifting by pontoons was not the first 
" camel ride ' of the^ Niagara. There was 
that blazing July day in 1813, when she and 
the Lawrence both crossed the Presqu'isle 
Bar thus — but that is running into another 
story. 

Let none begrudge the Niagara the cele- 

128 



A RESURRECTION 

bration of her triumph of a century ago. 
She turned the scale in a battle of nine vessels 
against six, of a fleet well-manned against a 
fleet which only boasted fifty bluejackets 
among its raw crowd of soldiers, frontiers- 
men, and lake sailors ; of a fleet well fed, 
which hove two hundredweight of shot for 
every hundredweight fired by a fleet which 
had been blockaded to the point of starva- 
tion. Poor one-armed Barclay's flour-bins 
were as empty as his coat -sleeve. That was 
why he gave battle. It was a fair fight, and 
the light-weight lost. 

And what has befallen the fleets that fought 
out that bitter struggle ? 

The luckless Detroit, the British flagship 
captured at a ghastly price, loitered about the 
lake wharves thirty years or so, and then went 
blazing over Niagara Falls with helpless wild 
animals aboard — a spectacle to attract holi- 
day crowds, furnished by gain-seeking 
publicans. 

Her consort, the Queen Charlotte, ended 
her days even less gloriously. She carried 
cargoes until broken up. Her great iron 
ship's-bell, that once called the watch and 
relieved the wheel, hangs yet in the town-hall 
of the City of Erie. It bears the date, 1799. 
It was a firebell for Erie town from 1828 

129 K 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

onwards, and was cracked ringing an alarm. 

The Lawrence, Commodore Perry's first 
flagship in the famous battle, lay sunk in 
Erie Harbour until 1874. Her old bones 
were raised and sent to the Centennial Exhibi- 
tion at Philadelphia. Here was a ship whose 
decks had dripped blood, until even the ward- 
room assistants of the toiling surgeons could 
not keep their feet. Like the others, she was 
a ship men gave the best that was in them, 
to design, to build, to equip — a ship men laid 
down their lives to capture or defend — a ship 
for which men by scores, even hundreds, 
carried wounds and mutilations to their dying 
day. And yet her old remains were sold for 
storage charges ! 

Sic transit gloria ! And now last of that 
brave armada of fifteen sail which joined battle 
on fresh water a hundred years ago, the 
Niagara, Perry's second flagship, has again 
seen the light. May her second incarnation 
be happier than the first of her friends and 
foes ! 



130 



VIII 

How We Took Oswego 

WHEN THE LARGEST AMERICAN PORT ON LAKE 
ONTARIO TO-DAY FELL INTO BRITISH HANDS 



A : 



" \ L-I-A-S," pondered Pan-faced Harry, 
conning the police-court column of 
an old newspaper. " What does 
aye-lie-us mean, anyhow ? " 

The assembled watch below in the forecastle 
of the Great Lakes freighter remained silent, 
diplomatically. Malachi Malone, the mutilated 
monument of ancient wars, had fixed his 
Cyclopean orb upon the questioner with a 
baleful glitter. It was the regard of a basilisk, 
but it only meant that Malachi was once more 
searching for something hull down in the 
horizon of memory. 

" Aye-lie-us," quoth the shell-back, " is a 
switching of names with intent to deceive, 
which is why you see it mentioned in the 
police-court column. Some calls it ale-yus, 
but with them I don't hold. Gimme the 
Scripter every time " 

131 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELYERS 

" You're thinking of Elias," hastily objected 
the divinity student, who was earning a dollar 
a day in his holidays, as before told. You 
find a very mixed crew in every Great Lakes 
schooner's forecastle. 

" Same thing," affirmed Malachi airily ; 
but, sniffing shoal water to leeward, he hauled 
his wind adroitly and went on. ' Now, in 
1814 " 

" Lord," objected the second mate. 
" Another o' them eighteen- twelve hair- 
raisers ! " 

" Go on, you interest me, sir," said the 
divinity student ; "I mean," with a painful 
blush, " fire ahead and be — what-you-may- 
call-it." 

" Ye'll never git fur with nothing stronger'n 
that, son," advised Malachi grimly ; " but, 
as I was saying, this same aye-lie-us was a 
handy dodge for us in the King's navee, here 
on Lake Ontario in 1814. 

" I told you about Isaac Chauncey, the 
Yankee Commodore, and his menagery of 
schooners at the beginning of the war, and how- 
Sir James Lucas Yeo nipped off four of 'em 
in 1813. Well, when the fleets laid up that 
year the pilots and powder boys got a rest, 
but the ship carpenters and sail makers worked 
double shifts. Lordy, what a time there was 

132 



HOW WE TOOK OSWEGO 

in Kingston on our side of the lake 
and in Sackett's Harbour on the Yankee side. 
Night and day the saw pits rang and caulking 
mallets clinked, the pitch cauldrons bubbled 
and the steam boxes smoked. It was a race 
to get the biggest fleet ready for the water 
next spring. We knew they'd started on two 
twenty-two-gun brigs, the Jones and the 
Jefferson — you can see the old Jefferson's bones 
yet bleaching in Sackett's Harbour — and 
two ships, the Superior and the Mohawk, as 
powerful, mind ye, as ocean frigates. We 
started on two full-sized frigates and a regular 
line-o'-battle ship — 102 guns she was to carry, 
on two decks, enough to blow the whole 
Yankee fleet out of the water. 

" It took a week then to send a letter from 
York to Kingston, less than two hundred 
miles, but it was a perfect miracle how news 
travelled from one side of the lake to the other. 
We always knew what the Yanks were doing 
at Sackett's Harbour, and they seemed to 
know what we were doing in Kingston even 
before we begun. There were always deserters 
coming and going, though ours were branded 
with a big D under the left armpit, and trans- 
ported for life, if caught. News of our ship 
of the line rather staggered the Yanks. They 
changed the Superior from fifty to sixty-two 

133 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

guns as soon as a deserter brought in word of 
the St. Lawrence — that's what the big ship 
was to be called ; and they tried to blow her 
upwith a torpedo later on, like we tried to do 
with the Superior." 

" Thought torpedoes were twentieth cen- 
tury," objected the second mate. 

" Oh, there's lots of lessons old 1812 taught 
that they're learning yet," answered Malachi 
loftily. " Our torpedo for the Superior was 
a raft of powder kegs lashed together, with a 
fuse running through the top of each keg. 
It was to be floated alongside of her in the 
dark, the fuse lit, and the boat that towed it 
to pull off for dear life. Our boys got as far 
as Sackett's Harbour one night, and then found 
the old Madison stretched across the harbour 
mouth, and the new ship still on the stocks, 
with a guard of marines sleeping under her, 
and the Madison's guns trained to sweep the 
shipyard with grapeshot in bags and canister 
in cans. Some liar had told us the Superior 
had been launched, but she wasn't ready for 
a week later. The boys pulled away, and 
were chased and pretty near caught by patrol 
boats. They had to leave the torpedo on 
Bull Rock Point, for they were scared of an 
odd shot blowing the whole thing up. 

" As I was saying news passed from 



HOW WE TOOK OSWEGO 

Kingston to Sackett's like a man's money melts 
the first night ashore. Everything we did or 
planned was matched by Chauncey's moves. 
Yankee deserters and the chaps trucking and 
trading could tell us more about our own 
fleet than we could squeeze out of 'em about 
theirs. They knew our vessels, their names, 
their rigs, and their guns. So Sir James Yeo 
hit on a scheme. He had the whole fleet 
renamed. His old flagship, the Wolfe — the one 
I was powder boy in — became the Montreal. 
The Royal George, that saved the day in the 
Burlington Races, became the Niagara. The 
brig Earl of Moira was renamed the C Harwell, 
and the brig Lord Melville shone as the Star. 
They were given thirty-two-pounders for their 
old eighteens. The schooner Beresford was 
renamed, rerigged, and regunned. She had 
been renamed once before, for she was the first 
Prince Regent. She blossomed out afresh as 
the sixteen-gun brig Netley, and the schooner 
Sir Sidney Smith faded away into the fourteen- 
gun brig Magnet. One of the new frigates — 
1,450 tons and 58 guns, mind ye — was chris- 
tened Prince Regent, after the little schooner 
of the old squadron that had lost her name. 
Seems a simple trick enough, but it worked 
fine. The new names and new rigs fooled 
the tale-bearers, and old Chauncey didn't 

i35 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

know whether to believe that we had twice 
as many vessels as the year before or what. 
Why, them aye-lie-usses even kept us guessing. 
I've heard the old yellow Stone Frigate 
a-roaring with the lads argufying " 

" Stone Frigate ? What's that ? " asked 
the second mate. 

" The old limestone building in Kingston 
Harbour yet, at Point Frederick, back of the 
Military College," answered Malachi. " You've 
seen it many's the time, with the old timber 
launching ways crumbling alongside of it. 
In my time its floors were open from end to 
end like the inside of a three-decker. We 
rushed it up for sailors' shore quarters and 
ship-wrights' barracks in 1812, and it's about 
all that's left now to show o' the war — except 
me," and he dropped the lid of his one eye. 

" Well, you're as sound as the old Stone 
Frigate itself," quoth the second mate en- 
couragingly. 

" Sure I am," said Malachi. 

" And did the renamed fleet see service ? " 
mildly inquired the divinity student. 

" See service ! " Malachi snorted. " Young 
feller, just listen to what one of your Methody 
parsons went through. Ever hear of Rev. 
James Richardson, D.D. ? 'Course you did. 
His son was surgeon in Toronto jail down to 



iju 




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— 5 jc 



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V. 



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bi 



HOW WE TOOK OSWEGO 

last year. Well, the Rev. Jim was the sailing- 
master when I was in the Montreal. He 
wasn't any reverend then, but he was a fine 
God-fearing chap, who'd sailed the lakes with 
his father since knee-high. He was a lieu- 
tenant in the Provincial Marine, but that only 
gave him sailing-master's rank when the fleet 
was reorganised as part of the Royal Navy. 

" We beat old Chauncey in the ship car- 
penters' race that winter and had our fleet 
all ready but the St. Lawrence by the end o' 
April. When the lads who made the torpedo 
attempt reported how far the Superior was 
on, Sir James Yeo saw it was the time to 
strike hard. He wheedled old Sir George 
Prevost, the Governor, into letting things 
alone for once, and early in May sailed from 
Kingston Harbour to attack Oswego. 

" Oswego's a hustling city now, and was a 
big place, in a way, then, for it was the nearest 
lake port to Sackett's Harbour, the Yankee 
base, and they used to send all their heavy 
supplies there from the seaboard. They 
could tote them that far on the inland water- 
ways and float them into Sackett's Harbour 
from Oswego, when the coast was clear. 

" The place had a star-shaped fort then, 
where the big one is now — high up on the 
crown of the hill to the east of the river mouth. 

137 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

The town was all on the other side of the 
stream. The fort was a regular Gibraltar 
in its way. You boys' ve seen the wrecks 
piled up on the boulder beach, around the 
life-saving station at the foot of the fort hill 
in your time, and you know they were the 
remains of vessels trying to make the port 
with all the friendly help of tugs and light- 
houses " 

" I've seen five go ashore there in one 
season," answered Pan-faced Harry. 

" Well you can guess what it was to bring 
a fleet up to that place in the late spring, when 
all the welcome they'd get'd be roundshot 
outside, and shrapnel inside the harbour, if 
they could make it. Sir James thought it 
over, and he saw, perhaps for the first time, 
the mistake both sides were making in the 
war. The new ships were too big for work ! 
The big new Prince Regent couldn't have got 
into Oswego Harbour at all, and had to be 
left behind to guard Kingston. We went over 
with the Montreal and the Niagara, the Star, 
Charwell, Magnet and Princess Charlotte — the 
second new frigate, 1,200 tons and 42 guns. 
We towed gunboats — big open barges, some 
of 'em lugger-rigged, and all with thwarts 
across, so's two men could pull on each of the 
three dozen oars. They'd a gun or two on 

138 



HOW WE TOOK OSWEGO 

platforms in the stern and bow. We'd a full 
house, with the Glengarry Highlanders and 
De Watte ville regiment, and the Second 
Battalion Royal Marines, besides us blue- 
jackets. 

" At ' six bells ' in the afternoon watch on 
the fifth of May we hove to off Oswego, fifty 
miles across from Kingston. We lay outside 
of gun range, and sent the galleys in to get 
the lay of the land. The Yankees blazed 
away with their guns from the fort and a 
battery they'd posted on the beach, but all 
the harm they did was to stave a hole in the 
bow of our biggest gunboat. After an hour 
and a half the Johnny Marines were ordered 
back alongside, and word was passed that we'd 
storm the place at dark. 

" The sun went down in a splash o' red, and 
a big bank rose and rose and rose in the nor'- 
west. 

" ' There'll be no fight to-night, sonny,' 
sailing-master Richardson said to me. ' But 
that beggar'll have you busy keeping your 
powder dry, my boy,' and he pointed to the 
cloud bank. 

" He was right. At ' six bells ' in the second 
dog-watch it was ' All hands make sail ! ' and 
we filled the maintops'l and got under way 
with the gunboats in tow. At ' seven bells ' 

*39 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

it was ' Clew up t'gallants'ls ! Stand by 
tops'l halliards ! Reefers away ! ' and we 
were hauling out the third reefs in the tops 'Is, 
with the fleet tacking in column offshore, 
staggering like long voyagers on their first 
night in port. The wind came down hot and 
heavy, and through the dark from every 
ridge ashore the whirl of beacon fires told of 
the alarm being spread from hamlet to hamlet. 
It was a bad hole to be caught in with a 
nor 'west squall, with nothing but rocks and 
ramparts to leewards and the populace waiting 
to pick up the pieces as soon as you smashed 
on the beach. Sir James cracked it to the flag- 
ship, the Princess Charlotte, till I thought her 
new sails 'ud bust. We could see her looming 
ahead of us, riding high as a haystack, and 
sagging one fathom to leeward, for every two 
fathoms she'd make ahead. She was towing 
two gunboats, and they helped hold her back. 

" ' By jiminy, Malachi,' Richardson yelled 
at me — it was his heaviest sweai word ; 
' they've got to lose those boats or lose the 
flagship. They'll never thresh her clear.' 
Just as he spoke the black bulks dropped 
astern and the Princess forged ahead, and 
we knew they'd cut the painter. 

1 Then there came a call from the plugged 
gunboat we were towing. She was a big 

140 



HOW WE TOOK OSWEGO 

brute, sixty feet long, and could carry a 
hundred and fifty men. ' We're in water 
up to our knees ! ' hollered a captain o' 
marines, ' and we can't keep afloat, though 
we're bailing with our hats ! ' 

" ' Haul 'em alongside ! ' ordered Captain 
Popham, our Old Man — he had succeeded to 
the command of the Montreal when Sir James 
Yeo took the new flagship. We tailed on to 
the towline and hauled the battered hulk 
up to leeward. She was full to the gunwale 
and foundering. The Johnny Marines 
scrambled aboard of us like drowning rats, 
and we hooked tackles unto her guns — she 
had two of 'em — and swung them in, though 
I thought we'd take the masts out doing it. 
Then we cut her adrift. 

" You know the Big Galloo Island, halfway 
across from Kingston to Oswego ? Well, 
we fetched to leeward o' the Galloo afore 
the squall blew out. Soon as it did we all 
wore 'round and stood back for Oswego. The 
fleet had blown out a few jibs and split a 
tops'l or two in the flurry, and in all we lost four 
of the boats we were towing ; but compared 
with the chance of being scattered in staves 
all along the rocks from Oswego to Six Town 
Point, it wasn't so bad ; especially as the fleet 
was lumbered up with a thousand men in all. 

141 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

' The weather had steadied down by 
daylight, but the Princess Charlotte didn't 
dare go in close enough to get her guns into 
action ! She drew too much water. But we 
got close enough ! O Lord, yes ! The little 
Magnet was sent right into the river, past the 
fort to cut off reinforcements, for the watch 
fires had raised the countryside ; and the 
Montreal and the Niagara sailed into the 
harbour mouth and went at the fort hammer 
and tongs. The Star and Charwell kept under 
easy sail outside, towing up boatload after 
boatload of marines, soldiers and sailors to 
the landing place on the beach. 

" We lay closest to the fort, and they hailed 
red-hot shot on us from the ramparts. We 
came back with cold grape and round. They 
slithered our sails to ribbons and cut up our 
rigging till it hung in tangled bunches of 
hemp. ' We can't get out o' here, lads,' 
hailed Captain Popham, ' for our gear's all 
gone, but — ' A ball whizzed, and his right 
hand, holding the trumpet, dropped, mangled, 
but he raised the trumpet with the other and 
finished — ' We'll give them the worth of 
their money, since they want us to stay so 
badly ! ' 

1 Up the steep slope of the hill to the fort 
swarmed two hundred bluejackets with their 

142 



HOW WE TOOK OSWEGO 

boarding pikes, Sir William Howe Mulcaster, 
of the old Royal George, at their head. Sir 
James Yeo was ashore, too. Along the back 
of the fort hill, from the landing place, 
streamed the kilted Glengarries and the De 
Wattevilles, in red tunics and white breeches, 
and the Royal Marines in their silly stiff hats, 
red coats, and blue trousers. But they could 
fight, those same Johnnies, and the Yanks, 
who had potted them from the shelter of 
the woods, were now on the run for the fort. 

" By this time we were on fire. The red- 
hot shot from the furnaces in the fort made 
our tarred rigging sizzle and the flame licked 
up the masts. 

" ' Buckets aloft ! ' called Captain Popham, 
and the topmen scrambled up the flaming 
ratlines and laid out along the scorching 
yards with leather buckets on long lines and 
soused everything. I could see through the 
smoke the bluejackets were up the bank 
now, and Lieutenant Laurie, Sir James Yeo's 
secretary, was scrambling over the ramparts 
first of all. Then another burst o' flame 
along our decks made everybody's heart 
jump, for fire in a wooden ship, ballasted with 
gunpowder, is a pretty sure passport to the 
big beyond ! 

" The bulwarks had taken fire, but we 

i43 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

smothered them with sand and tarpaulins, 
when there came a yell from aloft. A brace 
of red-hot chain shot had struck the foretop 
and sheared away the maintopmast stays'l, 
where it was stowed there. It floated down 
like a flaming parachute on to the fo'c's'le 
head by the powder gangway. The sailing- 
master rushed forward with a boarding pike, 
caught the mass as it fell, and pitched it 
overboard. Then with a scream he dropped 
the pike and rolled down the gangway. 
Where his left arm had been hung a bloody 
mass of seared flesh and shredded jacket 
sleeve. A red-hot roundshot had got him. 

" I helped carry him to the cockpit. 
1 It'll have to come off at the shoulder,' I 
heard the surgeon say. Jimmy Richardson 
gritted his teeth, and then above the roar 
of the guns I heard rounds of cheers on 
cheers. I rushed on deck, sick with the smell 
of the surgeon's shambles, and there on the 
hilltop, with his legs locked around the head 
of the fort flagpole, I could see a marine 
hanging. It was Lieutenant Hewitt. He 
had swarmed up, as nimble as a man-o'- 
warsman, and had torn the big Stars and 
Stripes down with his hands. The colours 
had been nailed to the pole. 

" The Yanks were on the run for Oswego 

144 



HOW WE TOOK OSWEGO 

Falls, twelve miles up the river, and we let 
them go. The town was good enough for us. 
We'd twenty- two killed and seventy-three 
wounded ; but, on the other hand, we had 
the flag, we had the fort, we had sixty 
prisoners, and we had the stores they left 
behind. There was powder and shot by the 
ton, and six spiked guns in the fort. We 
blew them up, and burned the barracks and 
public buildings in the place, but we didn't 
rob one henroost, nor turn one family out. 
Down by the harbour we loaded cordage and 
cables enough for a fleet, besides 600 barrels 
of salt and 500 barrels of pork, and as much 
bread in barrels, and 800 barrels of flour. 
And what else did we find, d'ye think ? 
Nothing but our old friend the Growler. 
Mind the saucy schooners in Chauncey's fleet 
the year before that wouldn't obey orders 
off Niagara, and got snapped up by Sir 
James Yeo ? The Growler was one of them. 
We turned her into a transport, and, as luck 
would have it, she was recaptured by 
Chauncey off the Ducks that fall, along with 
the Julia and three others. She was lying 
in Oswego loaded with three long thirty- 
two-pounders and four long twenty-four's, 
intended for the Superior at Sackett's 
Harbour, when we first hove to off the place. 

145 l 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

They scuttled her to save the guns, but we 
found them in her hold, raised her, and 
towed her home with us, along with a string 
of batteaux and a trading schooner or two 
that we found in the place. Boys-oh-boys, 
there was money rolling on the tavern floors 
in Kingston when the fleet came in " 

' But Richardson — what became of him ? ' 
asked the divinity student, anxious to steer 
Malachi away from the shoals of sin. 

" Oh, he pulled through the surgeon's 
hacking, and was made a pilot in the hun- 
dred-gunner St. Lawrence. There wasn't a 
better man on the lakes for the job, either. 
But, as he himself said, he'd been born a 
square-rigger, but he was only a fore-'n'-after 
now, with his port spars gone. He waited 
till the war was over, and then went preaching 
and wound up as an admiral of the Sky 
Pilots. He was a Methody bishop before 
he died — so put that in your pipe, young 
feller, and follow the smoke of a smart packet, 
if you'd make a record passage." 



146 



IX 

The Captain's Gig goes Glove- 
hunting. 

" In St. Mark's Church, Niagara, on its 
eastern wall is a tablet to the memory of 

CAPTAIN COPLESTON RADCLIFFE, R.N. 

who fell whilst gallantly boarding 

one of the enemy's schooners at 

anchor off Fort Erie on the night of 

the 12th August, 1814 

He was a native of Devonshire 

This stone is erected at the request 

of his brothers and sisters by 

their nephew 

W. P. Radcliffe, H.M. Regiment. 

" This was one more of the many useful lives 
lost gallantly in the prosecution of a worse than 
useless war." 

— Robertson's Landmarks. 



P 



" J^ASSENGERS lately, eh ? " 

The gaze of Lieutenant Alexander 
Dobbs, R.N., bored its way through 
the blue tobacco haze to a dainty Spanish 
leather glove, meant for a slim, left hand, 
tacked against the cabin carlins overhead. 

147 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Copleston Radcliffe, seated opposite, failed 
to flush, but his merry eyes twinkled. 

Dobbs had the Charwell, Radcliffe the 
Netley. Their two brigs lay rubbing sides in 
the swift Niagara current at Queenston, 
while their commanders " visited ' in the 
Netley' s cabin, and talked long and earnestly 
of the turn affairs had taken. 

Since Barclay's defeat on Lake Erie in 
1813 British naval power above the Falls 
of Niagara had been almost extinct. At this 
very moment an express was begging Lieu- 
tenant-General Drummond for succour for 
the last British armed vessel on the Upper 
Lakes, doomed shortly to perish under the 
guns of an American squadron in the Notta- 
wasaga. Drummond was besieging Fort 
Erie, where the American invader, four 
thousand strong, had entrenched himself. 
Before the fort lay three armed American 
vessels, the Porcupine, Somers, and Ohio, 
part of Perry's squadron which had destroyed 
the British fleet the year before. The young 
British officers, ambitious for honours^above 
their narrow lieutenancies, buoyant with the 
enthusiasm of under thirty, were discussing 
the possibilities of " cutting-out " these 
vessels. (The old man-o'-vvarsmen coined 
that familiar phrase generations before the 

148 



THE CAPTAIN'S GIG 

slangsters picked it up.) Dobbs' discovery of 
the glove broke the thread of talk. 

" Yes," Radcliffe answered, heartily, " an 
Oswego lady and her niece. They'd come 
down Lake Erie in the United States war 
schooner Ohio, and taken passage in a sloop 
at Niagara for home. Sir James Yeo cap- 
tured their vessel and told us to give them 
passage to the foot of the lake. They were 
well-bred people, and the niece as trim a 
packet as ever flew the Stars and Stripes. 
Lots of ginger in her make-up, too. As she 
went down the gangway, when we had 
brought them to Kingston, she dropped that 
glove. 

" ' Keep it, sir,' said she, with the deepest 
of curtsies, when I hurried after her, ' That 
is,' she went on, with a toss of her brown 
curls, ' if you can. I mislaid its mate in 
the Ohio, and her commander may be looking 
for this to keep it company one of these 
days.' I was rather hove-aback by her 
style — these light-draught clippers are hard 
to follow in narrow, winding channels, you 
know — and by the time I had filled away on 
the new tack she was gone. So I tacked 
the glove up till I get a chance." 

"It's the left hand — nearest the heart," 
Dobbs commented playfully. Then, with 

149 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

sudden earnestness : " You're not in love 
with her, Rad ? " 

" The lass I love," answered Radcliffe, 
with equal earnestness, " won't be so careless 
of her finger-gear. For all that, I'd like to 
send the complete pair back to that saucy 
minx, just the same." 

" Well, then, we'll have to cut the Ohio 
out," laughed Dobbs, " and while we're at it 
we might as well take the other two. By 
gad, it would be a prime joke to clean 'em 
off the very moorings where we lost the 
Detroit and Caledonia, first year of the 
war ! " 

" Lord ! " exclaimed Radcliffe, " it makes me 
boil to think of how cocky the Yanks got 
over cutting those two out. Of course, it 
was our own fault, but the glorification ! 
Here we anchor right under the guns of our 
own batteries at Fort Erie, and turn in 
as though Black Rock and Buffalo, the 
American bases, were the other side of the 
world, instead of being the other side of the 
river. Along comes Jesse Elliott, with a 
crowd of bluejackets fresh from Sackett's 
Harbour, and they pull across, cut the brigs 
adrift, and sail away with them as though 
performing a circus trick ! 

" They say," broke in the practical Dobbs, 

i5° 



THE CAPTAIN'S GIG 

" the Caledonia had a cargo of furs worth 
$250,000 in her hold." 

" Yes," exploded Radcliffe wrathfully, 
" And the other was worth as much to us, in 
point of honours, or more, for she was the 
prize brig President Adams. She was 
renamed Detroit in honour of brave Brock's 
capture of her and the town whose name she 
bore. It was a bitter blow to the general 
to have her recaptured that way. ' This 
will work incalculable mischief,' he wrote, just 
before he got his death wound at Queenston 
Heights, and he was right." 

" But the Yankees didn't get clear away 
with her," Dobbs reminded him. " You re- 
member, they had to run her aground on 
Squaw Island, and both sides fought all day 
over her, holding her turnabout until she 
was burnt to the water's edge." 

" Yes," admitted Radcliffe, " but they got 
the Caledonia into Black Rock, and she was 
made the nucleus of the fleet that wiped poor 
Barclay out, last September. Dobbs, I'd 
give anything in the world to square the yards 
by cutting out those three schooners that 
are lording it over the river and lake at Fort 
Erie now ! " 

" Especially as one is the Ohio, and has a 
certain article of ladies' wearing apparel, to 



1^1 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

wit and namely, one glove, aboard some 
place ! " laughed Dobbs. 

" No," protested Radcliffe, " if it came to a 
choice I'd sooner take the Somers and the 
Porcupine, for their share in Barclay's defeat. 
Congress gave Elliott a sword of honour 
and they made him a captain for cutting 
out our two brigs. What do you think '11 
happen tous supposing we clean up the 
schooners ? " 

" A wigging from headquarters for acting 
without orders," laughed Dobbs, " but let's 
try it ! " 

" I'm with you," agreed Radcliffe. " But 
what's your plan ? Boarding by night, of 
course, but we're here and they're there, 
with the falls of Niagara between us. There's 
not a British punt afloat above the rapids 
now, they say — and we can't wade out to 
them." 

" Let's ask George Hyde," suggested Dobbs. 
" He marched up with Collier from Halifax 
to Kingston in the dead of last winter. He 
knows a wrinkle or two about transpor- 
tation." 

George Hyde, gentleman volunteer by 
condition, midshipman by rank, and mate by 
occupation aboard the Charwell, fulfilled their 
expectations. Horses were not to be had 

152 



THE CAPTAIN'S GIG 

for love or money, but within an hour a little 
company of bluejackets and marines, seventy- 
five strong, was stumbling through the dark 
up the steep ridge road from Queenston. 
There was something in the middle of the 
troop that moved slowly, something that 
changed bearers frequently ; but the group 
of panting men vanished among the windings 
of the road before the keenest American 
scouts on the opposite side of the river could 
make out who they were or what they 
carried. 

All the short August night they tramped 
the river road, while the breeze sighed 
through the leaves overhead and the water 
murmured and swirled in the chasm below ; 
on past the roar of the Whirlpool, on past 
the thunder of the mighty Falls. Dawn 
lighted them into the hollow where French- 
man's Creek flows into the Niagara River — 
a tired troop of sailormen, sore of foot and 
sorer of back — for, though marching itself 
was a penance to men confined to the hundred- 
foot walk of a brig's deck, they had carried 
on their shoulders, all the seventeen up-hill 
miles from Queenston, the C Harwell's 
captain's gig ! 

You who have watched a ship's boat toss 
like a cork among the billows — to you it has 

i53 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

given a lasting picture of lightness. You 
who have tallied on to the tackle-falls when 
the boat has had to be hoisted up to the 
davits — you know her heaviness, and how it 
grows, ton upon ton, as the last inch of the 
davit tackle comes squeezing under the thumb 
cleat. But it takes the actual experience of 
having stumbled, mile after mile up a rocky 
path, from midnight till morning, under the 
crushing gunwales of a shell of white oak, 
twenty feet long, weighing between one and 
two thousand pounds and feeling as many 
hundredweight — it takes that to enable one 
to realize what that march of the Charwell's 
crew meant. 

Halting for breakfast at Frenchman's Creek 
the shore-voyagers made discoveries, good 
and bad. Five flat-bottomed batteaux had 
been hauled up on the bank — enough, with 
the gig, to carry the whole party comfortably. 
Erie's waves danced, dark-blue, in the 
distance, but it was impossible to reach them 
by the river, for sentries from Black Rock 
to Buffalo watched it night and da}'. Fort 
Erie could only be approached from the lake 
— and to reach the lake unobserved meant 
nearly three leagues of heavy going, through 
the woods. Hyde spent the morning pre- 
paring slings and shoulderpads, and a certain 

i54 




MAC SHOWING THE SHORE-VCM VGE OF A SHIP 



THE CAPTAIN'S GIG 

Lieut. -Col. Nichol, quartermaster-general of 
the militia, proved a good angel. He lent 
enough of his merry men to pick the batteaux 
up and walk off with them, though it was eight 
miles of hard bush-trail scrambling. It was 
killing work ; but when the twilight of the 
eleventh of August faded into the velvet 
dusk, the toiling, perspiring procession emerged 
upon the beach of the lake, seven miles west of 
the entrance to the river, and so at last the 
British once more had a flotilla on Lake Erie ! 

And such a fleet it was ! Dobbs led, in 
the C Harwell's gig, with a pair of batteaux 
completing his division. Radcliffe was the 
proud commander of the remaining trio of 
leaky flat-boats. Just before midnight they 
turned from the lake to the river. Floating 
quietly down-stream they neared the out- 
lying one of the American schooners and 
made ready for a swift pull for all three 
vessels simultaneously. 

As the oars dipped a watchful sentry hailed : 

" Who goes there ? " 

" Steady, lads," hissed Dobbs, and Radcliffe, 
posing as a blundering waterman, stuttered 
out : 

" Pup-pup-pup-provision b-boats with 
s-s-sup-pup-plies for the schoo-schoo-schooner 
S-S-Somers. Is that the S-S-S-Somers ? " 

i55 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

" Naw," mimicked the sentry, " this is 
the Pork-pork-pork-you-porcupine. Choose 
a ship with fewer s's in her name, matey, or 
you'll bust ! Try the Ohio." 

" We-we-we will ! " answered Radcliffe, 
with such conviction that even his shoulder- 
galled messmates, huddled there in the 
shadow of death, could not help tittering. 

By this time the boats had drifted past the 
first schooner. To have turned on her now, 
with a sentry watching, would have ruined 
the whole enterprise, so the trail drifted on 
towards the other schooners. The con- 
versation with the Porcupine's anchor watch 
had allayed the suspicions of the Sowers' 
sentries, if they had any, and the first inti- 
mation they had of danger was the swish 
of a British cutlass severing their cable. 
Next moment a mob of bluejackets, flashing 
muskets, pistols, cutlasses and boarding pikes, 
swarmed over the bulwarks, cut down the 
anchor watch, and seized all the deck-openings. 

" Try the next schooner, Rad ! " shouted 
Dobbs, " she may cut her cable if we wait 
till we're masters here ! " 

" This one's drifting towards her, so we'll 
help you if you need it. Good luck, Alec," 
returned Radcliffe, and back to his boat 
leaped the brave lieutenant. 

156 



THE CAPTAIN'S GIG 

His oars thrashed out, and, followed by 
two batteaux, he disappeared in the direction 
of the Ohio. A flash and roar of musketry 
showed that her crew had been aroused by 
the uproar. 

" Pike and cutlass, lads ! " shouted Rad- 
cliffe, snapping his pistol and tossing it aside 
as he leaped to the bulwarks. 

His figure was outlined against a flame of 
musketry and plunged forward, inboard. His 
men followed, hacking, hewing, thrusting, 
stabbing, and the schooner's deck at once 
became a pit filled with writhing men, 
fighting hand to hand. 

Now the batteries along the river began to 
roar excited interrogations. Black Rock 
and Buffalo on the east side bayed back to 
Fort Erie on the west, like dogs barking from 
farm to farm when the midnight bear prowls 
round the sheep-folds. The flashes of the 
guns showed nothing, the batteries pounded 
away blindfold. The gunners knew neither 
the target nor the range. But the moon, 
heaving up from behind Buffalo like an 
aerial fireship, showed the Porcupine, under 
sails and sweeps, fleeing for the safety of the 
lake, while the Ohio and Somers stood down 
the river towards Frenchman's Creek — their 
canvas, mastheaded by British sailors, 

157 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

swelling in the night breeze and lighten- 
ing the labours of the towing batteaux. 
Ere the Black Rock batteries could 
find the range the newly hoisted British 
ensigns had passed around the bend in the 
river. 

It was one of those small fights which 
mean a great victory. The prizes, with 
their thirty-two and twenty-four-pounder 
guns, were precious ; cannon on Lake Erie 
were worth their weight in silver ; but more 
precious still was the smashing blow to Yankee 
assurance and the restoration of British 
prestige involved. And this had occurred on 
the very anchorage where, two years before, 
the Americans had " cut-out " the British 
brigs Detroit and Caledonia ! 

" What luck, Rad ? " hailed Dobbs, as 
the Somers, making sail faster, ranged up on 
the other schooner. 

There was an ill-boding silence, then 
Hyde, the midshipman, hailed from the 
Ohio. 

" He's dead, sir — killed just as he leaped 
the rail. Can you send the surgeon, sir ? 
We've a seaman killed, too, and half a dozen 
sailors and marines wounded ; and the 
Americans are pretty badly cut up — com- 
mander and sailing-master hurt, and half a 

158 



THE CAPTAIN'S GIG 

dozen of the crew wounded and some killed. 
How's it with you ? " 

" Poor Rad ! Poor old boy ! That spoils 
it all ! And us with nobody hurt, except 
two Yanks hit in the first rush. Hyde, 
I'm coming aboard. I'm sorry it wasn't 
me. 

The Char-well's gig brought the Charwell's 
surgeon and the Charwell's captain. The 
latter plunged at once into the cabin of the 
Ohio. There lay, groaning in agony, the 
schooner's late commander. There lay, 
stiffening in death, the body of Copleston 
Radcliffe. Dobbs flashed the lantern on the 
face, and involuntarily followed the stare of 
the dead man's eyes. Tacked on the carlins 
above him was a dainty Spanish leather glove, 
meant for a slim right hand. 

Honest Alexander Dobbs, master now of 
two American schooners, with sixty or 
seventy prisoners in their holds, cannon on 
deck, and provisions, arms and ammunition 
under hatches — Lieutenant Alexander Dobbs, 
R.N., who was to be hailed as " Captain," and 
publicly congratulated by General Drummond 
before all the forces on the morrow — this 
gallant, powder-blackened seaman stared and 
stared at the dainty bit of leather as at a 
heaven-blazing portent. Suddenly he tore 

i59 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

it from the carlins and strode out on deck, 
rending the glove in fragments. 

" Damn the women ! " cried he bitterly, 
strewing the last shred into the purling 
wake. 



160 



X 

Yarns o' York 

BEING AN ACCOUNT OF THE MARVELLOUS 
REAPPEARANCE OF MALACHI MALONE UPON A 
CENTENARY-EVE IN THE SECOND CITY OF 
CANADA 

HE looked like a being from another 
world ; and he was. 
The wrinkled, shrivelled old 
atomy who mumbled to the longshoremen in 
the waterfront saloon that April evening said 
he was Malachi Malone — last living witness 
of the War of 1812. And this is the tale he 
told, in a gasping, choking treble that kept 
the noisy bar crowd silent and round-eyed. 

" Ye don't believe what the newspaper 
says ? Ye don't believe the 'Mericans cap- 
tured this here city o' Toronto one hundred 
years ago to-morrow ? Well, the more fools 
you, for I know they did. I was there. 
Tuesday, April 27, 181 3, was the day. I 
know. 

161 M 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Ye think I'm a liar. More fools you, again. 
I'll prove it. I'll tell you how it happened. 

" When I was a kid in Kingston the place 
swarmed with sailors and soldiers, and ships 
and cannon, for it was war time. I ran away 
from school and hid in a commissary waggon 
when night came on, 'cause I was scared to 
go home. When I woke up the waggon was 
under weigh, and I was scared to get out, for 
I didn't know where I was. When the 
driver did find me at daylight he cuffed my 
ears and gave me a hunk of bread and some 
corn coffee, and told me not to leave the 
waggon, nohow, if I didn't want to get et up 
by Indians and bears and things. And so 
I stayed, and we went on and on, through 
trees and trees and trees, over a road of frozen 
mud and snow. At night we'd camp, and we'd 
go to sleep with the horses whinneyin' around 
the big fire, and the wolves howlin'. Our 
waggon was one of a train of half a dozen, 
haulin' military stores to Burlington Heights, 
at the head o' the lake. A few soldiers went 
along with the first waggon, and made log 
crossin's at the creeks. 

' Bime-by — mebbe a week after we started 
— we came to a big high ridge that showed 
the lake, clear and cold offshore in the April 
sun, roily and brown in by the bank. 

162 




WwX 



■ 



ii 



;. 



YARNS O' YORK 

" ' The Highlands o' Scarborough,' Billy 
the driver told me. ' We kin make York by 
dark if the road holds out.' 

" ' Tween the road and the lake on the 
crest of the ridge stood a tall, notched tree- 
trunk, with an arm stickin' out like a gibbet 
beam. As we passed the big arm began to 
move up and down. A sergeant bellowed at 
us, ' Lick 'em up, Bill, lick 'em up ! They've 
just sighted the enemy's fleet from the 
telegraph ! ' 

" The waggons went plungin' down the 
miry road till, at dark, we had to ferry a 
river, and pulled up at a timber blockhouse 
on the far bank. We was in Toronto — York 
as its name went then. You find miles of 
streets wherever you go now, and half a 
million people. We found sixty wooden 
houses, packed in eight blocks between the 
Don River and the market square in front of 
St. James' Church ; a few stores, more taverns, 
and Parliament Buildin's down by the harbour 
at the river's mouth. 

" The town was all a-buzz, with the 
taverns doin' a roarin' business. Farmers had 
flocked in, the militia'd mustered, and the 
place fair swarmed with soldiers — Glengarry 
Fencibles, Royal Newfoundlanders, a few o' 
the 49th, and the King's or 8th Foot, with a 

163 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

few dozen Chippewa and Mississaga Indians 
in warpaint and feathers. There was only 
a few soldiers of each regiment, but their 
different uniforms made 'em seem a lot. 
Nobody was scared. ' Let 'em come ! ' 
everybody said, for they'd trimmed the 
Yanks time and again already in the war — 
Mackinaw, Detroit, Queenston Heights, and 
Ogdensburg — and every time against big odds. 

" Countin' the three hundred militia and 
the Indians and dockyard hands, and takin' 
in the two companies of the King's that had 
just arrived ahead of us, there was six or 
seven hundred fight in' men to make the town 
roar and ring that night. 

" I saw the General himself — Sir Roger 
Hale Sheaffe — sittin' at a table, talkin' and 
laughin' with his officers. He puffed a big 
fat cigar as if he hadn't a care in the world. 

" We slept that night in the market square. 
The militia bivouacked there. Afore day- 
light we was routed out and told to take our 
horses down to the navy yard. 

" This was away west o' the town, near 
the bottom of a military road called Yonge 
street. High and dry here on the stocks, 
like the Ark on Mount Ararat, loomed the hull 
of the big new frigate Sir Isaac Brock, half 
planked up and ready for caulkin'. 

164 




o 

_ r 

: s 



: O 



- o 



o 

Ex 



YARNS O' YORK 

" ' That's what brings them Yankees,' I 
heard a dockyard man say. ' They've set 
their heart on gettin' her, for she's better 'n 
anything they have afloat. If she was in 
commission with her thirty guns they 
wouldn't be a-hangin' around the harbour ! ' 

" Hard aground on the beach beside the 
launchin' ways lay the dismantled hulk of the 
old brig Duke o' Gloucester, refittin' as a 
transport. They'd stripped the Prince Regent 
war-schooner of her guns to fit out the Brock, 
and had shifted the Gloucester's six-pound 
popguns into the Prince. She'd sailed lor 
Kingston three days before. All around the 
frigate, like swine in the mire, lay her own 
eighteen-pounder carronades and the long 
twelves taken out of the Prince, dismounted 
and buried above their muzzles in ice and 
frozen mud. It was a late spring. 

" 'Twas to get the cannon out to the gar- 
rison that all the waggoners was routed out 
so early, but all the King's horses and all the 
King's men couldn't budge them frostbound 
guns. They worked with picks and pries 
and crowbars and tackles, but hadn't raised 
one when the call came for all hands to the 
fort. 

" For a mile and a half we rode west, along 
a rough road back from the Bay front, 

165 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

through gardens and apple-orchards and past 
houses in clearin's from the native bush, till 
we came to the Garrison Creek. Across it 
was a barracks and blockhouse and palisades ; 
then a big low buildin' called the Government 
House, where the governor used to live. The 
garden in the hollow around it was filled with 
soldiers as we passed. Everywhere, except 
to the south, was bush. There was the lake. 

" Billy's horses was hitched to a six-horse 
team to drag to the Western battery, half a 
mile from the garrison, a rusty old eighteen - 
pounder gun-barrel, lashed to the fork of a 
tree. 

" When we reached the Western battery, 
some of the Royal Newfoundlanders took our 
old eighteen-pounder and clamped it to some 
pine logs with iron hoops. Another gun had 
been mounted that wa}*. ' The}* ain't been 
used since the French left 'em at their old 
fort,' Billy said, 'and we'll be lucky if they 
don't blow us to bits when they go off. And 
to think of all them guns layin' in the mud in 
the shipyard ! ' 

' Where's the 'Mericans' ? ' I asked, too 
interested to think of it before. 

" ' Here they come,' he said, and pointed 
out over the lake. 

" Two miles out, with sails lighted by the 

166 



YARNS 0' YORK 

risin' sun, 'Stars and Stripes' flappin' and 
long streamers o' red, white and blue blowing 
off to leeward, the fleet was roundin' the point 
of the sandbar that sheltered the harbour from 
the south and west. The water was smooth 
in the lee of the bar, but the wind was keen 
and freshenin', and they came on fast. The 
Commodore's ship, a square-rigged three- 
master, led 'em. A brig followed. And then 
fourteen schooners, mostly little ones. But 
from every one flashed the gleam of guns, 
and their decks was crowded with men. 
They towed ships' boats and big batteaux. 

" The enemy seemed to be steerin' for the 

clear space on the bank to the west'ard, 

where the French used to have a fort and the 

big exhibition's held now. We tried our 

new-rigged eighteen-pounders on 'em, without 

any damage on either side, and forty Indians 

and a few townspeople ran along the high 

bank and peppered the ships' boats as they 

pulled in. The boats stopped to let the 

riflemen fire, and the high east wind drifted 

them on up towards Humber Bay, past the 

rough foreshore of what's now South Parkdale. 

Where the bank got low and formed a beach 

the riflemen rushed a landing, dropped both 

the Indian chiefs, killed some of the braves 

and drove the others into the woods. 

167 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

" Most of the militia was back in the market 
square yet, or guardin' the town blockhouse, 
three miles away. A few of 'em had been 
sent off with a six-pounder through the bush 
to keep the enemy from circlin' round. The 
sixty Glengarry men that raced out to support 
Major Givens' Indians went along the track 
of the six-pounder and only got to the beach, 
too late, by following the sound of the firm'. 

" ' There go the King's ! ' shouted Billy, 
and the Grenadier company of the Eighth 
went flashin' past — a hundred and nineteen 
o' the finest fellows that ever wore army 
leather. Captain McNeill, handsome as a 
prince, was at their head. The other com- 
pany was still back in town. 

" Things got so hot just where we was our- 
selves that we forgot what was goin' on at 
the landin'. The big thirty-two-pounders 
in the Yankee square-riggers began to heave 
shot into the garrison and Government House, 
and every broadside we'd see the splinters 
fly there. The schooners beat into the shoal 
water and ripped the woods with grape and 
canister shot. The little balls flew over 
our heads, like buckshot above a hidin' duck, 
but they cut down the troops that marched 
through to the beach and stalled the six- 
pounder that was started for the landin'. 

1 68 



YARNS O* YORK 

" Wounded men began to drag past us, 
bound for the garrison. 

" ' The woods is full of riflemen ' they told 
us. ' They tree'd one Indian chief in a big 
pine, and killed him, but he picked off a 
dozen of 'em afore he dropped ! ' 

" ' Donald McLean, the clerk o' the House 
of Assembly's been killed,' said another. 

" ' The 'Merican infantry got orders to use 
nothin' but pike and bayonet,' another chap 
said. ' The man that fires is shot dead ! 
Only the riflemen use their powder, and once 
they get among the tree trunks with their 
green clothes there's no spottin' em' ! ' 

" From the landin', against the breeze, 
came the throb o' drums and the top notes 
o' ' Yankee Doodle.' Then by ones and twos, 
by dozens, by scores, Glengarries, Newfound- 
landers, King's men, and Third Yorks kept 
poppin' out o' the clearin', some stoppin' to 
form line, some draggin' themselves along, 
wounded, or carryin' their comrades. They 
crowded in around the battery and tried to 
dress their ranks. 

Where's the general ? ' one'd ask. 
' Back on the road near the old French 
fort,' another 'd say. 

He'll be captured sure, for they're 
drivin' right in ! ' 

109 



THE EIGHTEEN-TYVELYERS 

" ' A cannon-ball from one o' the schooners 
killed his aide's horse under him, but he won't 
budge,' another'd chip in. 

" ' They've cut the 8th Grenadiers to pieces,' 
says another. ' The riflemen just picked 'em 
off in their scarlet coats like prize birds at 
a shootin' match.' 

" ' Yes,' said a grenadier, with the blood 
smearin' all his white cross-belt, ' Captain 
McNeill calls, " Bayonets, lads ! Charge ! " and 
spins round, throws up his hands, and falls 
flat, like this ! ' And the big, tall chap dropped 
dead in the battery as he told it. 

" ' But the Grens. went over their captain 
and got to the boys in blue,' said a Glengarry 
man with a great gash in his neck. ' They 
drove 'em down the hill, through the line o' 
sharpshooters, and we fought with bayonets in 
the gravel on the beach, boatload after boat- 
load landin' all the time. Zeb. Pike, their 
general, led a charge and drove us back. 
They was six to one. Half McNeill's company 
is stretched on the slope.' 

" ' Now lads,' broke in an ofhcer, ' we'll 
get that schooner standing in,' and he hopped 
up on the bastion to sight the guns. 

' The bombardier, the one soldier in the 
crowd who hadn't forgotten his drill, saluted 
and came to attention, thrusting his match 

170 



YARNS 0' YORK 

behind him. With a crash like a lightnin' 
bolt explodin' the whole battery filled with 
flame. Legs, heads and bodies scattered 
through the air, and the gun platform turned 
upside down, rollin' the eighteen-pounder 
over. I wasn't hurt ; just sick, awfully 
sick and dizzy. When I opened my eyes 
the smoke was clearin,' and I saw a heap of 
writhin' things, human bodies, burnt black, 
shapeless, runnin' blood. 

" The artilleryman had been crowded close 
to the truck that carried the cartridges, and 
had stuck his match into the portable maga- 
zine — that's what had happened. 

" That blow-up killed eighteen men. A 
lot more was awfully mangled. They com- 
menced to carry 'em off in stretchers and 
wheelbarrows, and the way their limbs wag- 
gled about as they were moved made me sick 
again. 

" I crawled around and looked for Billy 
and called to him, but nobody could tell me 
where he was. I just thought he had gone 
away. He had. But it was only hours 
afterwards that it came to me that he was 
part of that horrible pile of human butchers' 
meat in a corner of the battery. 

" They got the cannon clamped down again, 
and then at last — we'd been expectin' 'em 

171 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

for an hour and a half — the Yankees began 
to show in the spaces between the trees to 
the west of the battery clearin'. 

We'll have to shift them guns somehow,' 
a non-com. bellowed. 

What's the use ? ' answered an artillery- 
man, ' we've got nothin' but roundshot, 
and you can't stop 'em without grape.' 

Gallop to the garrison and tell 'em to rush 
up grape and canister,' yells the other to a 
driver. 

" Before the man was mounted someone 
shouted, ' The General's orders are to rendez- 
vous at the Government House battety ! ' 
and then there was a general scatteration. 
They spiked the two old eighteen-pounders 
and trailed off in a long procession towards 
the garrison. 

The ' Mericans by this time was comin' 
on in column, cheerin' as they ran. 

" Some o' the troops faced about at the 
Half Moon battery, and fired a few rounds 
from behind the embankment, but it was only 
with muskets. There was no cannon there. 
Soon they was all huddled around the pair 
of twelve-pounders in the Government House 
square. Shells from the fleet had set the 
roof on fire, and nobody seemed to know 
whether they was to make a stand here or 

172 



YARNS O' YORK 

nut. ' On to the garrison/ somebody called, 
and the two twelve-pounders, and another old 
cannon that had been rigged up like the 
eighteens, out of logs and iron hoops, was all 
spiked. 

" The garrison was all in an uproar. The 
soldiers' wives and children had been driven 
out of the barracks-square quarters by the 
shot from the American schooners, and the 
place was littered with scattered household 
goods, stray animals and wounded men. 
Here again nobody knew what to do. The 
General seemed keener on bein' always the 
last man to back up from the enemy than on 
keepin' his own men from backin' up. And 
so they fidgetted around the garrison block- 
house, until suddenly somebody seemed to 
straighten things out, and the wrecked ranks 
of the regulars formed up and marched off 
through the garrison gates, across the bridge 
towards the town. The militia followed 'em 
in steady marchin' order, and I trailed along 
behind, my legs still wobbly from the sickness 
of my stomach ; and besides, I hadn't had 
any breakfast, and it was now near two 
o'clock in the afternoon. The blusterin' east 
wind seemed to go through me, as I faced the 
full force of it in the top of the bank of the 
harbour, after crossin' the Garrison Creek 

173 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

bridge. I heard a clatter of hoofs, and the 
General and his aide came along. Captain 
Loring, the A.D.C., had found a fresh horse. 
As they passed me I heard another awful 
roaring and felt the ground lurch under me, 
like a deck in a seaway. ' This must be what 
it's like to faint,' I thought to myself, and 
wondered why I didn't fall down. 

" Something big whizzed past me and rolled 
the aide-de-camp's horse over, and him under 
it. I looked back, and there above the garri- 
son hung a huge round cloud, like a balloon just 
burstin'. It rained down men and horses, 
and timbers, and iron, and stones, and great 
masses of earth. Splinters of wood and 
pieces of stone even fell where I was, and on 
the backs of the last of the militia ahead 
of me. 

" The garrison storehouse had blown up. 
The General had had a fuse laid, to destroy 
the rive hundred barrels of gunpowder and 
the tons of shot there. The Yankees hadn't 
got into the garrison when the magazine went, 
but it was at the south-west corner of the 
place, and caught them that was crowdin' 
forward. Two hundred and sixty of 'em was 
laid out, I heard afterwards— forty or fifty 
of these was killed on the spot. Pike, their 
General, was smashed by a flyin' stone, while 

i74 




..INs THAT GUARD IHI-: GARRISO.N CATE, OLD FORT, TOR! MTO, ONTARIO 

ilypittedwi.h rust, but rubbed smooth wiih much handling b 5 thecurious 
these °' d '■' " W be sui • i ;„„. in Canada ' 

' western, .ldfortatl £to, Ont. , known 

"son. < lamped to pine logs with i, ing , U| , 

.'■■'■■ 'heearthw.l,..,, their sifters 

the Principal British battery in the Ball | ron to) Vpril .7 

1813 Neai the spot where the> now stand occurred the explosion of the 
powder magazine which killed and wounded two hundred and fiftj of the 
American invaders. 



YARNS O' YORK 

he sat on a log questionin' a big sergeant 
they'd captured. The pieces o' the magazine 
was thrown so far they fell on the decks o' 
the vessels. It was a big blow-up, but yet 
it didn't jar me so much as the little one I'd 
been in. 

" Soldiers hauled the bruised A.D.C. out 
from under his second dead horse, and carried 
him with them to the last stand, on the far 
side of a ravine in front of a place called 
Elmsley House. It's a C.P.R. freight-yard 
now, but for years and years the old Lieu- 
tenant-Governor's house stood on the spot. 

" Here they all lined up, and stood around. 
Some began to gnaw biscuits and raw pork, 
and most of the volunteers, stiff with the cold, 
tired out and hungry as bears, wandered off 
to the houses that showed here and there in 
the clearin's. I remembered our commissary 
waggon 'way back in the market square, and 
the grub there was stowed in it, and set out 
to cover the half mile or so under all the sail 
I could stretch. 

' There was lots o' women and kids in the 
market square, but the only men was old 
cripples. Everybody who could carry a 
shootin'-iron was with the troops. I was only 
a kid myself, but I felt sort o' shamed to 
be where I was. But soon militiamen, in 

i75 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

uniforms and in overalls, began to amble in, 
blood}', muddy and mad. 

Sold out, I tell ye ! Sheaffe's a Yankee 
bom and Yankee at heart ! ' yelled one. 

1 Yer a liar ! ' says another. ' I fit under 
him at Oueenston Heights and he was brave 
as Brock himself. 'Tain't his fault he was 
born in New England ! Ain't he been fightin' 
for King George since he was ten years old, 
first at sea and then on shore ? ' 

" ' Well,' says the first, ' What d'ye think 
o' his fightin' to-day ? What did he do when 
Major Heathcote said in front o' Elmsley 
House he was for another try at the Yanks ? 
Gave the order to retreat to Kingston, that's 
what he did.' 

" ' Huh,' says the other, ' Only mistake 
he made was ever tiyin' to hold this place. 
There's two thousand o' them Yanks ashore 
already — three to one of us an' worse — one 
third of our six hundred's killed or wounded.' 

' I never heard the end o' the argument, 
for the next minute the redcoats came 
poundin' by in loose order an' almost on the 
trot. Somebody fetched up a team o' horses 
and hitched 'em to our waggon — and that was 
what you might call the end o' the Battle o' 
York. Sheaffe and his regulars was off full- 
pelt for Kingston, leavin' behind pretty near 

176 



YARNS O' YORK 

everything except what they marched in. 
The militia'd done their share o' the fightin', 
but they had to face the music o' the surrender 
all alone. 

" And mebbe the 'Mericans wasn't mad ! 
Three hundred and fifty killed and wounded, 
and most o' them in a blow-up they thought 
was treachery ! The frigate they'd brought 
ship-carpenters all the way from Sackett's 
Harbour to finish for their own fleet burned 
before their eyes ! All the powder and shot 
destroyed, and the best o' the British army 
they'd hoped to capture clear escaped. I 
don't wonder they burned the garrison build- 
in's and the Houses o' Parliament, and the 
town blockhouse, opened the jail and plun- 
dered the treasury ! Lucky they stopped at that . 

" That's a part, though, I didn't see, alto- 
gether. When the regulars was trampin' 
past the market square a squad led up a team 
o' horses, hitched 'em to our waggon, tossed 
out our bundles o' stores, and dumped a load 
o' groanin', bleedin' men into it. I was at 
the bottom o' the heap, and the waggon 
started. 

" A grey- whiskered man, with sleeves rolled 
up and arms all bloody like a butcher, grabbed 
me. 

" ' Out o' this,' says he, ' unless you're an 

177 N 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

amputation case. Hold on. Tear me up 
bandages, and be quick about it.' 

" He tossed a roll of white cotton and opened 
up a case of knives that made my blood run 
cold. And there on the bottom of that joltin' 
waggon he began to hack and to carve his 
screamin' victims, tossin' a hand or an arm 
or a foot overside like a fisherman sortin' a 
catch. Army surgeons in the days before 
ether didn't specialize on cultivatin' the finer 
feelin's. 

" I was so scared o' that man with his knives 
that I tore off bandages and helped him bind 
up the stumps of his work as though I liked 
it. And this went on by the hour along the 
terrible road. The sun was gettin' low when 
a thin, whitefaced chap on a drippin' horse 
overhauled us. 

" ' Hold hard, Hackett,' he called, ' You're 
carryin' off my instruments, and God knows 
we've enough wounded left on our hands to 
keep a dozen sets goin'. 

" ' Well, I've had what you might call a 
fair amount of business myself,' returned Sur- 
geon Hackett, ' but I'm through, I think, and 
I really didn't mean to carry off your set, 
Aspinwall. 'Fraid they'll need some grinding. 
But here they are, and good luck to you.' 

" The man called Aspinwall leaned forward, 

178 



YARNS O' YORK 

grabbed the heavy case, and wheeled back 
for the town. He was an American doctor 
who'd set up practice in York. All day long 
he'd worked, helpin' the British surgeons, 
and that's how they'd come to carry off his 
knives. And all that night and the next day 
and the next, he worked like a Trojan with 
the wounded left behind in the town, and not 
till they was all cared for would he take the 
big post held open for him as surgeon in the 
American fleet. 

" I know this, for Hackett drove back to 
the town next mornin', takin' me with him. 
He'd cleaned up what wounded they was 
carry in' in the retreat, had them stowed in 
wayside houses, and drove in to do what he 
could for the left-behinds. 

" He was a great man. Even in that awful 
shambles-cart on the road, I'd been amazed at 
the way the wounded blessed him while at 
work. And the poor maimed beggars of the 
King's that he found in York, with wounds 
mortified and frozen from lying hours on the 
cold ground — they cried like babies when the 
word went down the ward, ' Surgeon Hackett, 
our own surgeon, has come back for us.' 



> >> 



The old man's cracked, quavering mono- 
logue suddenly ceased. The wasted figure 

179 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

huddled over the little beer-table, then 
straightened with a brisk jerk. 

" That's about all of the capture of York 
to-night, gentlemen," a youthful, business- 
like baritone announced. " Perhaps another 
member of the Students' Volunteer Movement 
will address you on some later occasion — 
also in costume. Thank you for your patient 
hearing. Good-night." 

And through a side door gaily vanished into 
the darkness the college boy impersonator 
of Malachi Malone. 

" What the ? " gasped the first long- 
shoreman who found his voice. " Honest-to- 
goodness, I thought that was the real Malachi 
Malone ! Oh, them college chaps ! You 
never can tell what they're up to." 

" Might' ve known he wasn't Malachi 
Malone," chuckled the bar- tender. " By his own 
account he was twelve years old or so when this 
thing happened a hundred years ago, so he'd 
be a hundred and twelve years old if he was 
a minute. But I don't mind savin' I thought 
he was a real old man, yarnin' away for a 
drink. It beats play-actin', what them 
students'll do." 

' I knew it wasn't the real Malachi," said 
a quiet old chap who had been grinning 
throughout the narrative, " for a mighty good 

1 60 



YARNS O' YORK 

reason. There was a Malachi Malone, sure 
enough, that used to spin yarns in the lake 
schooners' forecastles about the War of 1812. 
But I went to his funeral, ten or twelve years 
ago, so I know he's not spinning yarns in these 
parts. Everybody on the lakes had heard 
of him and his tales, and ten years back that 
student lad would have been welcome any- 
where, if he pretended he was the old man. 
But where he made a slip was in his language. 
Old Malachi had had quite an education, 
after a sort, and you'd never catch him drop- 
ping his g's, like the lad did so carefully. 
That's where our college boy went too far." 
" Well, he told a good yarn, anyway," 
said the dispenser of liquid joy, and all 
agreed with him. 



181 



XI 

Apples of Ashes 

GIVING SOME OF THE REASONS WHY THE 
TAKING OF TORONTO WAS NOT A FAMOUS 
AMERICAN VICTORY 

WATCH them round Toronto Island 
point, with the foam bursting in 
great yeasty masses under their 
crushing bows. 

The keen east wind swells their sails into 
arching, straining areas of curving canvas 
that swallow or shoot back the rays of the 
sunrise in purple shadow and golden flame. 

To leeward stream from peak and truck 
the " Stars and Stripes " and ribbon-like 
pennants of red, white and blue. 

Ahead of all speeds the light-armed clipper- 
schooner Lady of the Lake, a pretty toy, of 
the size of a modest gentleman's cruising 
yacht of these present days. They thought 
nothing of driving the Lady of the Lake with 
long oars or sweeps when the wind fell light. 

183 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

After her storms a heavier craft, the flag- 
ship President Madison, square-rigged on her 
three masts like an ocean frigate. Her bulk 
suggests the six-hundred-ton cargo-carrier that 
still persists on the Great Lakes and is known 
as the "old Welland Canaller," but from each 
side, through square ports, grin an even dozen 
of twenty-four-pounder cannon, and from her 
main truck flies the fighting broad-pennant 
of Commodore Isaac Chauncey. 

Next in line swings a smaller square-rigger, 
with two masts, the slab-sided wallowing 
old sixteen-gun brig Oneida, sailed, or driven, 
you might say, by Lieutenant Melancthon T. 
Woolsey. These leaders haul into the smooth 
water in the lee of the island sandbar and 
steer straight towards the clearing around the 
site of the old French fort of 1749 — in what 
is now a park, the grounds of the annual 
Canadian national exposition. 

A mile out — for they distrust the shallows 
of the shore water — the square-riggers come 
to anchor with a great threshing and flailing 
of loosened topsails. The big batteaux that 
have trailed astern of them are drawn up 
alongside, under the boat-booms, and the 
gangways are rigged for the disembarking of 
the soldiers. 

The saucy Lady stands inshore with leads- 

184 



APPLES OF ASHES 

men in the forechains bellowing " By the deep 
nine I " "By the mark seven ! " "A quar- 
ter less four ! " and so on, as the fathoms 
shoal. 

From the bank at the Western battery an 
ancient eighteen-pounder roars at her from 
its bed of pine logs to which it has been clamped 
with iron hoops. She whirls on her heel, 
spits back from her ^wivel guns, and stretches 
out to regain her fleet. 

The rest of them have come up now. They 
swarm around the brig and the flagship like 
settling gulls when the leader has found a 
fishing hole. 

They are picturesque, but not powerful. 
Except for the Madison cloud-crossing square 
rig, there is little hint of the grandeur of the 
battleship about them. Although their decks 
are crowded with sailors and soldiers and top- 
heavy with cannon they look like a fleet of 
fishers or coasters. And appearances do not 
deceive. They are all little schooners, not 
unlike the fifty — or hundred — ton stone- 
hookers which now ply their trade on the 
shores of Lake Ontario — except that they 
boast square topsails, a detail of rig long 
since vanished from the lakes. 

In spite of brave names and battleflags, 
of the fleet of sixteen sail only three — the 

185 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Madison, Oneida and Lady of the Lake — 
were built for war. The Raven, Lark and 
Fly are transports, pure and simple — lake 
coasters hired for the service. But then there 
are the lordlier Conquest and Governor Tomp- 
kins, six-gun schooners of war. A year ago 
these were the humble traders, Genesee Packett 
and Charles and Ann. The little schooner 
Pert — about the size of a harbour-tug, or 
small ferry steamer — was the coaster Col- 
lector, before she donned her war-paint. Her 
sisters, the Fair American, Ontario and Asp, 
were St. Lawrence River packets, trading to 
Ogdensburg, when the war broke out. Indeed 
the Ontario was one of the first vessels seized 
under the Embargo Act which preceded the 
war. 

That formidable Growler was a river 
schooner, too. She used to bear the name 
Experiment, and she is fated, ere four months 
pass, to change her name again to Confiance, 
when Sir James Yeo captures her and her 
consort Julia in a midnight fight off Niagara. 
And, later still, she will be renamed Growler 
again, on recapture, off the Ducks, and again 
she will lose the name, on a second recapture 
at Oswego by the British ! 

Her consort the Julia is with her now. Old 
Matthew McNair, of Oswego, built her for a 

186 



APPLES OF ASHES 

cargo craft, and called her after his daughter. 
When the war broke out he had her loaded with 
riflemen and cannon and sent down the St. 
Lawrence to Ogdensburg — the raiding base 
which long remained a thorn in our British 
flank. 

Even Homer failed to make the catalogue 
of ships that sailed for Troy interesting. 
Your patience for just another pair in the 
fleet that felled York. 

Look well at the largest of the lot of con- 
verted coasters, the Hamilton and the Scourge. 
Above them the Madison towers, six times 
the size, but they are typical of the make-up 
of the fleet. The one used to be the Ogdens- 
burg trader Diana. The other is a captured 
British coaster, the Lord Nelson. Both are 
fated, as elsewhere told, soon to drown their 
crews of eighty men in the blackness of an 
early morning thunder-squall off the Niagara 
River, when Sir James Yeo's fleet swoops 
down on them. See how they roll, even in 
the small swell in the lee of the island point ! 
They have been built to carry a hundred tons 
of cargo under their hatches. The weight 
of nine or ten heavy guns on deck is far above 
their intended centres of gravity. That is 
what dooms their laughing crews to a watery 
grave ere four months pass. 

187 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

This Scourge, the re-named Lord Nelson, 
is the immediate cause of the present raid. 
Early in 1812 her owner, Mr. Matthew Crooks, 
a Niagara merchant, started her from the 
river for Kingston, at the foot of the lake, 
loaded with a general cargo. In order to 
cross from the south side of the lake to the 
north side she had of course to sail through 
American waters. She was picked up as a 
prize under the Embargo Act, towed to 
Sackett's Harbour, and condemned. 

Bluff Lieutenant Melancthon T. Woolsey, 
commander of the still bluffer brig Oneida, 
drew the line at robbing a bride, even in war 
time. Part of the Nelson's freight was a set 
of silver ware belonging to the trousseau of 
a young Kingston lady. When they put 
that up at auction he protested. In vain 
" Five hundred dollars," somebody bid. 
* Five thousand," said Woolsey. The auction 
was off. He sent the bride her silver ware. 

But the Lord Nelso7i dangled, a tempting 
bait, at anchor in Sackett's Harbour for 
weeks before Commodore Chauncey decided 
to burden her with a deck-load of cannon, 
and an expedition sailed across the lake from 
Kingston to recapture her. It was bungled, 
and failed as badly as an3 T thing that champion 
soft-hitter, Sir George Prevost, ever did. 

188 



APPLES OF ASHES 

The expedition sailed home empty-handed, 
leaving behind them the Lord Nelson, sundry 
killed and wounded, and some of their officers' 
steeds, to make a name for Horse Island, 
where the landing had been attempted. The 
damage done in this first raid on Sackett's 
was just great enough to embitter the enemy, 
and little enough to encourage him to hit back. 

And so, as soon as the ice leaves the lake 
this following spring, Melancthon Woolsey's 
wormy brig buffets her way out for revenge, 
and fifteen fore topsails follow her. 

It has been a terrible voyage in those 
crowded 'tween-decks. Many of the schooners 
were no larger than ferry-craft, but the 
fleet loaded seventeen hundred troops, beside 
their own fighting crews. 

Imagine the smallest ferry-steamer you 
have ever used, loaded to her full capacity, 
and then imagine yourself detained in some 
way aboard her for forty-eight hours, and you 
will realize why the green-coated riflemen and 
blue-capped infantry hail with joy the call 
to the landing-batteaux. 

They pull ashore with fifes and bugles 
shrilling merrily amid the spitting bullets of 
Major Givins' scanty band of redskins and 
the handful of Glengarry men and 8th 
Grenadiers. It is a picnic for them, this shore 

189 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

excursion. They drift to leeward of the 
clearing of the old French fort, of course, in 
the high wind, but they tumble out on the 
beach of a sheltered cove to the westward 
— known in these days as Sunnyside — and 
scamper into the bush like schoolboys on a 
frolic. Once in the woods they are " as the 
air, invisible," among the evergreens and 
mossy logs. The Yankee sharpshooters mow 
down the gallant handful of charging Grena- 
diers, and their infantry form, platoon after 
platoon, a thousand strong, ere they march. 

Lightened of their seventeen hundred sol- 
diers, the square-riggers and the transports 
ride high at straining cable-ends. But the 
gunboats, or armed schooners, tack to and 
fro like restless gulls, ever working inshore, 
ever eating towards the tortuous harbour- 
entrance — the only one — which opens to the 
west. They do not know the road in to the 
town which huddles defenceless two miles 
away, at the eastern end of the bay enclosed 
by the island sandbar ; but their leadsmen 
are finding it for them, fathom by fathom. 

The great guns of the Madison and Oneida 
thunder long-distance menaces at the feeble 
batteries that guard the shore ; but it is 
the cannon of these sheering schooners that 
do the deadliest work. 

190 




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APPLES OF ASHES 

Each of the little ex-coasters wallows under 
one or two heavy long-guns, pivoted in the 
bow or amidships ; in addition their sides 
bristle with short-range carronades. They 
swoop in and rip the sheltering woods with 
murderous blasts of grape and canister, 
follow it up with the crash of thirty-two-pound 
roundshot, and tack off-shore ere the batteries 
can find them. 

The batteries ! Historians write as if the 
British defence of York was conducted behind 
a crowded arsenal. But read the record of 
the men who did the work behind the guns 
and you will find that there were in action 
altogether five pieces of artillery — two twelve- 
pounders at the Government House near the 
fort, then called the Garrison ; a superannu- 
ated gun-barrel of the same calibre, without 
trunnion, and clamped to pine logs in place 
of a carriage ; and two more old condemned 
eighteens which the French had left sixty 
years before. These last were at the Western 
battery, which blew a score of defenders 
to bits before the invaders arrived. 

Five guns against a fleet ! The Madison 
alone hurled in one broadside as much as the 
combined British batteries in four volleys. 
Cannon enough to have lined the Lake Shore 
from the garrison to the Sunnyside landing 

191 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

place, lay, unhappily, frozen in the mud of 
the ship-yard inside the bay. 

After seven hours of fighting, General 
Sheaffe, outnumbered four to one in men and 
twenty to one in cannon, has abandoned 
a hopeless defence. 

The antiquated eighteen-pounders and talka- 
tive twelves are dumb — spiked by their own 
gunners. 

Clusters of blue and green uniforms on the 
lake bank thicken for a final rush upon the 
western gate of the silent Garrison. Sud- 
denly a tremendous cloud, slashed by a vivid 
streak of flame, blots all from view. 

A roar as of a thousand thunderclaps dazes 
the beholders. The great cloud rises, balloon- 
like, and a shiver sweeps through the water, 
as the tremor before a tidal wave. 

And then from the blackness overhead there 
rains on the decks of the most shoreward 
ships a dreadful downpour — blood, and frag- 
ments of flesh, mingled with splinters of 
timber, and stone, and iron. The great maga- 
zine of the garrison has blown up, hurling 
to instant death fifty of the foreign foe. 

Through the rolling smoke sweeps a boat 
from the shore to the nearest schooner, the 
little Pert. In the sternsheets lies the mangled 
form of the discoverer of Pike's Peak, the 

192 







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- i-. 



APPLES OF ASHES 

leader of the American advance, Brig. -Gen. 
Zebulon A. Pike. 

" It's the General ! " hail the rowers. " His 
back's crushed in by a flying stone. Take 
him to the flagship and hurry surgeons ashore. 
We've more than two hundred wounded at 
that garrison gate." 

Mastheading the last scrap of canvas, the 
Pert swings off and flies before the wind to 
where the Madison rides at anchor. Swiftly 
she runs, but on her quarter deck lies Pike, 
weltering in his blood. In this very spot, 
five months before, sailing-master Arundel 
lay bleeding from his wounds, while the Pert 
threshed out from Kingston Harbour. He 
had been mangled, as Malachi Malone has 
already told, by the bursting of her swivel 
gun in a fight with the Kingston batteries, 
but refused to quit the deck. As the 
schooner tacked in the fresh breeze he was 
knocked overboard and perished. 

The vigilance of hero-worshippers saves 
the wounded General from the fate of the Pert' s 
commander ; but life had almost fled by the 
time they hoist her passenger to the Madison's 
deck. 

" Do not carry him below," say the sur- 
geons, quietly. Those who hear them under- 
stand. The crowding seamen withdraw. A 

193 o 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

little knot of officers, naval and military, 
lingers. 

The sound of cheering comes from the shore 
now, on the wings of the windy afternoon. 
Sheaffe, not knowing how hard a dying blow 
his abandoned magazine delivered, has burned 
his stores and marched for Kingston. The 
shaken Yankee troops are pounding towards 
the town in a frenzy of fear and exultation. 
A pinnace grinds alongside the Madison, 
and a powder-blackened head appears above 
the rail, waving a smudged and shot-torn 
square of red and white crosses on a blue 
field. 

" Their flag, sir ! " he shouts at blunt old 
Commodore Chauncey. " We've just torn 
it down. The town's surrendered, but the 
troops have escaped ; their stores are de- 
stroyed, and they've set fire to their new 
frigate on the stocks, so we won't get much." 

" What ? " thunders the sailor. " They've 
burned the very vessel we brought ship car- 
penters all the two hundred miles from 
Sackett's to complete. And I've twenty 
killed and wounded here afloat, and you've 
three hundred killed and wounded ashore- 

He halts in his harangue of the military 
men, for they are bending over their General, 
arranging the tattered Union Jack under 

194 




THE PASSl!" 



APPLES OF ASHES 

him. The dying man's eyes brighten, then a 
film sweeps over them, and they glaze. 

The burly sea-dog is all hove aback. 

" A damn dear piece of bunting," he begins. 
Then he blushes furiously under his forty-year 
coat of tan, and kneels bareheaded on his 
own quarter deck in the presence of the dead. 

BURIED TREASURE 

When the redcoats marched out as the blue- 
coats marched in,Prideaux Selby,the Receiver- 
General of the province, lay dying. William 
Roe, his clerk, feared the worst for his master 
and his funds. 

Leaving weeping relatives to guard the 
death-bed, young Roe loaded on to a waggon 
the Receiver-General's iron chest, three bags, 
a large packet, and a spade. 

" Straight for the Kingston road," he told 
the driver, " and don't look behind you ! " 

It was only human nature for the driver 
to half turn. His cheek touched the muzzle 
of a pistol. Jerking his head he " turned the 
other cheek also " against a pistol muzzle. 

" Eyes front ! " commanded Roe, and did 
not have to command again. 

A companion of the young clerk rode with 
him in the waggon box. As they ploughed 
past the masterless house of Donald McLean, 

i95 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

killed at the landing that morning, the driver 
heard a scraping as of something being 
dragged along the floor of the waggon box. 
" Eyes front ! " he was reminded, " and drive 
slowly ! " One of the young men got off and 
staggered with the iron box into the house of 
the late clerk of the Legislative Assembly. 
" Keep that safe ! " he whispered, and rushed 
to overtake the waggon. 

Three times, as the vehicle jolted and pitched 
along the " Kingston Road " — now Queen 
Street— in the track of the retreating troops, 
the driver heard a shuffling and scraping, as 
of someone getting off and getting on again. 
Each time " Drive slow. Eyes front ! " and 
the pressure of cold steel on either cheek kept 
him looking forward. 

A fourth time he heard the shuffling. 
This time there was no " Eyes front ! " 
The unwelcome passengers seemed strangely 
silent. He drove very slowly. He allowed 
the horses to halt. It was dark. He swayed 
cautiously in his seat. No side pressure on 
his head. He turned around. William Roe 
and his companion were gone. The package 
was gone. The chest was gone. The bags 
were gone. The spade was gone. The April 
twilight blurred everything to an indistinct 
violet. 

196 



APPLES OF ASHES 

" Well, I'll be shot," exploded the driver. 
Then he chuckled to himself. " No, I won't, 
but I pretty near was." 

The packet and the chest had held the public 
provincial papers and one thousand silver 
dollars. Plunderers, in that first wild night 
in York, broke into the house of the dead 
clerk of the Assembly and robbed it. The 
iron-bound chest was of course burst open, 
and the silver dollars only whetted the appe- 
tite of the invader. 

" King George's gold, or the town in flames I" 
was the choice Captain Jesse D. Elliott gave 
the peace commissioners in a moment of wild 
excitement. 

They did not know where the treasury had 
been emptied, but a merry waggoner was found 
who conducted a search party out along the 
Kingston road. Crossing the Don he brought 
them to the farm of the Chief Justice. By the 
roadside they found fresh spade marks. 
They dug, and unearthed a large, neatly 
wrapped package. It contained £2,500 in 
Upper Canada army bills ; about as useful 
to the Americans as the paper Confederate 
currency they captured in plenty fifty years 
later. 

" But the gold, the gold ! " they clamoured. 

"That's all I know about it," said the 

197 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

driver, with a solemn wink. " Here's where 
the young gentlemen vanished." 

The Americans searched high and low, 
rowing up the Don river till their boats became 
lost in its windings ; but with the army bills 
they were forced to content themselves. 

Some weeks later, when the affairs of the 
town, deserted alike by British defenders 
and American invaders, were slowly settling 
into a semblance of order, there was a gather- 
ing in the Rev. Dr. Strachan's little parlour — 
this was six years before he built the " Palace " 
that long stood on Front street opposite the 
Union station. Young William Roe was there. 
And to the future prelate he handed over — 
taking his receipt, like the thrifty business 
man he was — three bags of gold, smelling of 
fresh earth, which he had just dug up from 
nooks and corners along the road that led 
to Kingston. 

THE CHURCH MILITANT 

Like a beacon in the gloom shines out the 
conduct and conversation of the Rev. John 
Strachan, D.D., when things were at their 
worst. This is the man who afterwards 
became the great Anglican Bishop of Upper 
Canada, whose name and fame lives in Trinity 
College and Bishop Strachan School. In 

198 



APPLES OF ASHES 

1813 he was just a plain doctor of divinity 
in York, upon whom was hastily thrust the 
unenviable task of helping the militia officers 
make peace. The enemy was furious over 
the escape of the regulars and destruction 
of the new frigate, which they intended to tow 
home in triumph. In fact, the capture of this 
vessel was the main object of the raid. They 
were, moreover, maddened by a list of three 
hundred and twenty killed and wounded, 
which included their Brigadier-General and 
comprised one-seventh of their entire force. 
They ignored the protection Major Allan, 
one of the militia officers, expected from his 
flag of truce, and took his sword and marched 
him off a prisoner. The other militia officers 
and their men, who had been promised freedom 
on parole, were herded in the barracks-square 
like convicts in a prison-yard. And all the 
way from Sunnyside to the garrison, along 
two miles of lake front, lay British killed and 
wounded. 

Rev. Dr. Strachan sought General Dear- 
born, the surviving American commander. 
He was treated with all the contempt a 
blustering military man could display towards 
a humble cleric who had taken upon himself 
to mediate for the vanquished. And this 
is how the Scotch preacher flashed out, if 

199 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

the dry bones of ancient manuscript may be 
clothed with the flesh of inverted commas : 

" A new mode, this, sir," turning from the 
top-lofty Dearborn to the more genial Com- 
modore Chauncey, " of treating people clothed 
in public character. 

" I have had the honour of transacting 
business with greater men without meeting 
with any indignity. Tis easy to see through 
these miserable subterfuges for delaying the 
ratification of the capitulation. Perhaps the 
General, after allowing his troops to pillage 
the town, may be induced forsooth to ratify 
terms, so that when he returns home in tri- 
umph he may have it in his power to say he 
1 respected private property.' 

" We have been grossly deceived already, 
sir, but we shall not be so duped and insulted. 
If the conditions are not complied with im- 
mediately there shall be no capitulation. We 
will not accept it. You may do your worst, 
but you shall not have it in your power to 
say, after robbing us, that you respected our 
property ! " 

With that the fuming divine turned his 
back on the whole company, and strode off 
to the barracks. He announced to the officers 
assembled there that " naught was to be 
expected from a General who, instead of 



200 



APPLES OF ASHES 

acting up to the articles agreed upon, had 
insulted their negotiation." 

His words to Commodore Chauncey had 
by this time burned through the crust of 
Dearborn's pride — as was intended — and ere 
the clergyman had finished speaking to the 
officers the General made his appearance, 
ratified the articles of capitulation, paroled 
the militia, and allowed the sick and wounded 
to be removed. By sunset of April 28th, 
twenty-four hours after the flag came down, 
all the prisoners were free ; but even in parol- 
ling them the temper of the exasperated 
victor was shown. The prisoners released 
were the officers and men captured ; the 
prisoners par oiled were the officers and men 
on the muster-roll ; wherein the pen again 
proved mightier than the sword. 

SCALPLOCKS AND SCOUNDRELS 

Years ago below old Yorkville, the northern 
suburb since swallowed by spreading Toronto, 
there was a fenced-in plot on the crest of a 
sandy ridge, known as the Indian Grave. 
Before the white man came the Mississagas 
had buried their dead there amid the tiny 
shells which proved the rise to be an ancient 
beach. By 1813 the burying place had been 
abandoned, but to it was borne, by reverent 

201 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

white hands, the mangled body of the Missis- 
saga chief who shared the death and glory of 
the fight at the landing place. To guard his 
sleep with his fathers the white men built 
a fence about his resting place, and so for 
years the old burial ground regained its 
name. 

The chief was a sharpshooter, and, perched 
in the thick boughs of a pine tree, he picked 
off rifleman after rifleman as the first troops 
leapt from the boats. Unable to retreat 
with his followers he was surrounded in his 
eyrie. He held his foes at bay till his last 
bullet was gone. Then they rained volley 
after volley into the pine tree top, and the 
brave redskin fell to the earth like a dead 
eagle. 

Some say his corpse was scalped ; not 
impossible, for the riflemen bore the roughest 
of reputations, and scalps torn by human 
teeth from the heads of victims were not 
unknown trophies in the War of 1812. 

It is undisputed that a human scalp was 
one of the trophies carried away after the 
battle of York. At the Naval Institute in 
Annapolis, Md., may be seen to this day the 
Royal Standard, the carved lion from the 
canopy of the Speaker's Chair, and the royal 
mace from the House of Assembly, all carried 

202 



APPLES OF ASHES 

away from York by the Americans. General 
Dearborn wrote to the Secretary of War : 

" A scalp was found in the executive and 
legislative chamber, suspended near the 
speaker's chair, in company with the mace and 
other emblems of royalty. I intend sending 
it to you, with a correct account of the facts 
relative to the place and situation in which 
it was found." 

This " correct account " has never been 
found. Historians have indulged in guesses 
all the way from the speaker's wig to the 
Indian chief's scalplock, to explain this 
gruesome trophy. The most reasonable ex- 
planation is Robert Gourlay's. He says, on 
the authority of a member of the House of 
Representatives, that an army officer had 
sent the clerk of the House a human scalp 
in a letter as a curiosity. The clerk, in dis- 
gust, tossed the letter into a drawer when he 
opened it. Here it was found when the place 
was plundered. 

A riff-raff of disloyal renegades followed on 
the heels of the American sailors and soldiers, 
and pillaged and stole from their own country- 
men to such an extent that the magistrates 
of York had to issue a proclamation calling 
on all honest men to avert anarchy. General 

203 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Dearborn was an honourable foe, and gave 
them assistance. After the first outburst 
he seemed to have held both his own men and 
the disloyal rabble with a tight rein. The 
burning of the Parliament buildings may have 
been the work of the liberated jailbirds, who 
played upon the credulity of the conquerors 
by producing the scalp as an example of 
inhuman ferocity. Gourlay, quoted above, 
says : 

" A party of American sailors, without the 
knowledge or orders of their commanders, 
set fire to the two wings of the Parliament 
House and consumed them, with the adjoining 
clerks' offices and the library and papers 
deposited there, under a pretence of irritation 
on account of a scalp alleged to have been 
found suspended as a trophy." 

It would not take much persuasion to inspire 
a party of sailors on shore leave, with a "heavy 
press of sail and no rudder " to burn the 
buildings in maudlin resentment for the 
wrongs of mankind, as typified by the scalp 
produced ; and of course the burning of the 
buildings meant further opportunities for 
plunder. 



204 



XII 

Champions of Champlain 

THE BITTEREST CHAPTER OF ALL FRESH WATER 
FIGHTING — THE BATTLE OF PLATTSBURG 
SEPTEMBER II, 1814 

THROUGH the cabin windows flamed 
the dying crimson of the September 
sunset. 
" Tell Sir George," rumbled the Commodore 
in a deep-sea bass, " to — no, service is service. 
Tell his Excellency we will be up with the 
first fair wind, and scale our guns as a signal 
to the troops that we are under weigh. Wait, 
I'll write it." And he did, adding that he 
hoped he required no reminder to do his duty. 
The aide to his Excellency Sir George Pre- 
vost, Bart., Governor-in-Chief of Canada and 
Captain-General of his Britannic Majesty's 
forces for the invasion of New York State, 
accepted the note, saluted, clicked his heels 
and departed. Captain George Downie, plain 
commander of his Majesty's ship Confiance, 

205 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

and commodore-by-courtesy of the British 
fleet on Lake Champlain, was left to his 
thoughts. They were bitter. He was not 
slow to express them, for he had a sympathetic 
audience. Another officer, a cheery little 
man, also in captain's uniform, stood staring 
out of the port light at the glory reflected in 
the waters of the lake. 

1 That letter doesn't deserve an answer, 
Pring, ' ' muttered the senior officer. ' ' Damme, 
I'm sorry I sent any at all. You'd have told 
Sir George " 

" Yes," assented Pring frankly, " that's 
why they wouldn't give me command of the 
squadron." 

" I know you should have had it, old friend," 
returned Downie. 

" But I'm glad I haven't ; captain of His 
Majesty's brig Linnet, rough as rawhide and 
big as a minute, is good enough for me while 
that man's cock o' the walk," returned Pring. 

" Here we are at Isle la Motte," ruminated 
Downie, "after two days sweating at towing 
the ship with her boats and kedging her with 
her anchors, against current and head-winds. 
She's no more fit for action than I'm for 
heaven. And every stop we make, a red- 
coated, brassbound, pipeclayed Solomon-in- 
all-his-glory comes aboard in a shore-boat, 

206 



CHAMPIONS OF CHAMPLAIN 

with — ' His Excellency's compliments, and he 
hopes nothing else than adverse winds prevents 
co-operation of the fleet with the army.' 
Despatches, sir ! Damme, it's heart-breaking. 
If we only had a week to fit out " 

" I know, I know," the veteran who had 
been passed by said, soothingly. " The 
Linnet's so unfinished we have to hitch the 
gear to stanchions and timberheads, for we 
haven't our belaying pins made yet. Your 
ship, sir, must be worse off, for she's still 
newer and much bigger. But I should be 
getting aboard, sir, if there's no further 
orders " — the friend and subordinate curiously 
mingling in his tone. 

" Good-night, Pring, old man," said 
Downie slowly, the tone of the superior 
officer utterly absent from his voice. " We'll 
lie at anchor here till dawn, and then if the 
wind is fair, on to Plattsburg, ready or not." 

" Good-night, sir," said Pring, and made his 
way carefully along the decks, cluttered with 
ship-carpenters toiling by torchlight. He 
slipped down over the flagship's side to his 
gig, and the boat pulled off in the dusk of the 
September night to where a short pair of square- 
rigged masts marked his own brig Linnet. 

" Poor Downie," the captain murmured 
softly as he turned in. " They're driving 

207 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

him pretty hard. Well — better luck in the 
morning. " 

Like sheeted ghosts hastening to their 
narrow homes ere cockrow the sails of the 
British squadron shone through the mist as 
the sun rose on Lake Champlain, September 
ii, 1814. 

Eleven thousand Peninsular veterans were 
ploughing their furrow through New York 
State, turning neither to the right nor the 
left, never even breaking column for the 
attacks of the terrified American defenders. 
After two years of vexation the British lion 
was roused, and the invaders of Canada found 
themselves defending their own firesides. A 
desperate American rally was made at 
Plattsburg, on the lake, a last stand of army 
and fleet combined. They had to be attacked 
by land and water. George Downie, R.N., 
was on the way to do his part. 

His flagship towered above the small craft 
that accompanied her like some vast cathe- 
dral amid the humble shops and houses of 
burghers. She was as big as an ocean 
frigate — an enormous craft for the narrow 
lake, ten times the size of the original con- 
testants on it, like the Chub and Finch — the 
little sloops which crept along demurely on 
either quarter, with mainsails broad off to 

208 



CHAMPIONS OF CHAMPLAIN 

starboard before the light breeze. Her arma- 
ment was in keeping with her size. The low 
rays of the morning sun flashed back from 
thirty-seven heavy carronades and long-guns 
—two on her short poop, thirty on the main 
deck, and five on her roomy topgallant fore- 
castle. They were all the most modern, all 
of heavy calibre, throwing shot up to forty- 
two pounds in weight. Con fiance was the 
flagship's name, and confidence embodied 
she seemed to be. 

Yet never commander went into battle 
with heavier heart than George Downie. He 
neither feared danger nor expected defeat ; 
but the man had been maddened by nagging 
message after nagging message from the 
Captain-General of the land forces. He was 
rushing to battle like an experienced bulldog, 
who knows the time to spring is not yet, but 
winces under the excited urging of an unwise 
master. 

As the flagship floated along, the thud, and 
clink, and ring of ship-carpenter's tools rose 
from her decks. They were fitting quoins 
and slides for the great guns, and pinracks 
and belaying pins for the running gear even 
on the morning of the day of battle. 

The Confiance had only been launched on 
the 25th of the preceding August. Building 

209 p 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

her had been a labour of Hercules. The 
British station at Isle aux Noix on the lake 
was surrounded by American territory. The 
very spars of the Confiance had to be bought 
in New York State. Though at war with 
Great Britain American farmers did not 
scorn British gold for beef for the army and 
timber for the navy ; but such supplies, 
while obtainable, were subject to interruption. 
The first set of spars for the Confiance — fore- 
mast and mizzen, mainmast and topmasts — 
were seized in this way by army officers while 
American oxen were dragging them to the 
border. 

The wind had come fair through the night, 
a gentle trickle of breeze from the nor'-nor'- 
east. With the first dawn the fleet got under 
weigh, and the echoing crash of blank cart- 
ridges carried the news to the army that 
Downie was doing his duty. 

Immediately astern of the flagship sailed 
the little brig Linnet, equally new, equally 
ill-prepared. Close up with her were the two 
sloops, American vessels captured the year 
before. Behind them thudded the rowlocks 
of a dozen gun-gallies, rowed by crews of 
thirty or forty men, receiving small help in 
their low sails from the light, lofty air. 

The sun was not yet high when the last 

210 




MAP SHOWING THE ROUTE TAKEN BV DOWNIES 
FLKF.T AND THE PLACE OF BATTLE 



CHAMPIONS OF CHAMPLAIN 

barge-load of carpenters left the flagship's 
side, and the flotilla rounded Cumberland 
Head and opened Plattsburg Bay. Here, of 
course, the fair wind which had brought them 
up the lake was adverse for further progress. 
A cool commander, fighting in his own style, 
would have made light of this. He would 
have stood off and on, compelling his op- 
ponent to come out and give battle or lie 
blockaded in port. Had his opponent at- 
tacked, he would have crippled him with 
his long guns before he could come to close 
grips. Had his opponent lain at anchor he 
would have used him for target practice for 
the same " Long Toms." But Downie was not 
fighting in his own style. He merely hove 
to until the toiling gunboats overhauled his 
four sailing vessels, and then he filled away 
on the starboard tack, close-hauled for the 
heart of the foe. 

His foe was as brave as he ; of as much 
physical courage, and perhaps of more 
moral valour. Young Thomas Macdonough, 
twenty-eight years old and a commodore, 
knew what depended on him. If his fleet of 
four vessels were broken, the army would 
break too. The invaders would blow up the 
fortifications from the water, land marines 
and bluejackets, effect a junction with the 

211 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Peninsular veterans and wipe New York State 
off the American map. So he did the best he 
could. He reasoned that the British fleet 
would come with a northerly wind. There- 
fore he anchored his own flagship, the Saratoga, 
as far north in the mile-long gap of the harbour 
entrance as he could put her. He had anchors 
down ahead and broad off either bow of his 
ship. She was too deep to get very close to 
Cumberland head, so beyond her he placed 
a pair of gunboats, under sweeps, and the 
brig Eagle, of nearly double the size and treble 
the broadside weight of Downie's second 
vessel, the Linnet. The Saratoga was of not 
much more than half the tonnage of the 
Confiance, but her armament was almost as 
heavy, though of short range. Astern of 
the Saratoga, and further within the harbour, 
Macdonough placed a row of three gun- 
gallies. Next he moored the schooner 
Ticonderoga — of lighting strength equal to 
the two British sloops combined. She was 
the pioneer of the steam navy, but her wheels 
would not always go round, so Macdonough 
had her schooner-rigged, and armed with 
eight long twelves, four eighteens, and five 
thirty-twos. She was overloaded with guns, 
but she was a formidable fighting machine 
when at anchor. Astern of her, and more 

212 



CHAMPIONS OF CHAMPLAIN 

inshore, lay six more gunboats and the sloop 
Preble ; these last, combined with the shoals 
of Crab Island, opposite Cumberland Head, 
were Macdonough's reliance against the rear 
of his line across the harbour mouth being 
broken. 

Decked with bunting as for a bridal, the 
fleet lay in silent splendour, with sails furled, 
the vessels at anchor, the gunboats under 
sweeps. And, having done all that man 
could do, young Macdonough doffed his 
cocked hat and knelt on his quarter deck with 
his officers in prayer. 

The gallant Downie charged like an infuri- 
ated bull with shut eyes. The memory of 
" nothing else than adverse winds " made him 
see all things red. The brave little Linnet 
brig, whose long guns could plump a hundred- 
weight of roundshot at a broadside for a 
mile's distance, was sent right in to fight at 
point-blank range with the sturdy Eagle. The 
tiny Chub, gnawing to windward better 
from her sloop rig, supported her. The Con- 
fiance steered for the Saratoga's bows. The 
little Finch and a trail of gunboats steered for 
the Ticonderoga, meaning to break the rear 
of the line. 

The roar of the Eagle's long twelves and 
short-range thirty-twos opened the battle. 

213 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Much of the shot fell short, but the Linnet's 
long guns bellowed back and found their mark. 

Amid the rending of splintered planks and 
the smoke of the first discharge was heard the 
clear crowing of a game-cock. The fighting 
bird, released by a spent sixteen-pound ball 
which ^mashed his coop on the Saratoga's 
spar deck, leaped to the nearest gun-slide, 
beat his wings on his sides, and crowed vigor- 
ously. The sailors laughed and ran the guns 
out with a cheer. Macdonough himself level- 
led and sighted the first twenty-four-pounder, 
and the flagship spoke. 

The shot struck the Confiance as she was 
approaching, bow-on. It entered the hawse- 
pipe and ploughed the length of the main 
deck, knocking down sailors and marines like 
tenpins. It was a terrible example of the 
greatest peril of old-time naval duels — a raking 
fire. But never an answer from the great 
ship. On she came, like floating doom. 
Twelves, twenty-fours, and forty-twos barked, 
screamed and roared at her, gashing her 
planks, rending her sails, cutting away both 
port bow anchors, mowing down her men. It 
was only the flaw of the variable wind inside 
Plattsburg Bay which baulked her com- 
mander's evident intention of laying the 
Saratoga aboard. The baffling breeze headed 

214 



CHAMPIONS OF CHAMPLAIN 

her off until it was seen she would fall to lee- 
ward of her foe. So Captain Downie put 
his helm alee, braced his yards aback, and 
anchored, with springs on his cable and all the 
deliberation of mooring at squadron drill in 
the Downs. 

Then, double-shotted, at point-blank range, 
the great guns of the Confiance, sighted by the 
Commander in person, bellowed in broadside 
chorus. The five hundredweight of hurtling 
round shot staggered the Saratoga as would a 
violent gust or a heavy sea. Her bulwarks 
were beaten in. Her men were mowed down 
at their stations. Half her crew were laid 
low — killed, wounded, or stunned. The wind- 
age of a passing cannon-ball knocked Mac- 
donough over ; but high above the rending 
of wood and the groans of the wounded, 
shrilled again the defiant clamour of the un- 
dismayed game-cock, and the strong, even 
tones of the young Commodore, scrambling 
to his feet with a " Steady, lads ! Load quick 
and fire low ! " 

Through the battle smoke came a fleeting 
glimpse of a pair of topsails hurriedly sheeted 
home, and the scarred and splintered Eagle 
slowly floated by. The Chub and the Linnet, 
anchoring close in, had battered her out of 
her place. Her cables shot away and her 

215 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

starboard guns disabled, she had to make sail 
and run down under her flagship's quarter. 
She let go anchors from her sternports, thus 
riding tail to wind and bringing her intact 
larboard battery into action. 

Through the smoke drifted past another rag- 
ged shape, the British sloop Chub, with main- 
boom and bowsprit gone and sails in ribbons. 
Unmanageable, she floated through the enemy's 
line inside the harbour, and there, galled by 
gunboats and pummelled by shore-batteries, 
hauled down her flag. 

Thus the battle of the van was left to the 
anchored Saratoga and supporting galleys, and 
the thundering ConHance and spitfire Linnet. 

The rearguard action was equally hot. The 
Finch, though bristling with eleven guns, was 
not much larger than the dozen galleys which 
followed. The wind baffling her, she drove 
in with them under sweeps and engaged the 
Tinconderoga, Preble, and supporting gun- 
boats. The cannonading was furious. Back 
and forth, back and forth, on the ex-steamer's 
taffrail strode her commander, Lieut. Stephen 
Cassin. He seemed to bear a charmed life. 
There were no locks for one gun-division, and 
the matches would not work. Sixteen-year- 
old Hiram Paulding, midshipman, flashed 
pistols at the touch holes and so exploded the 

216 



CHAMPIONS OF CHAMPLAIN 

charges. Again and again the British gun- 
boats gained within oar length of the schooner. 
Again and again they were riddled with grapa 
and musketry, and forced to draw back, some 
so crippled they had to man the oars with 
their wounded. Man-of-warsmen in both 
navies have sneered at gunboats crews ; but 
while it took courage to work great guns and 
ply pike, and musket, and cutlass, behind 
bulwarks and boarding nettings, in the old 
fighting days, it must have taken still more 
courage to pull an oar, shoot, hack, load, aim, 
and fire, in a crowded open boat, heavy and 
slow to manipulate, and rocking violently 
with every discharge of its one or two cannon. 
The gunboats might have done better. They 
did well. 

In that desperate attempt to turn the rear 
of the American line the cable of the Yankee 
sloop Preble was cut, and she drifted into the 
bay, helpless, her seven long nine-pounders 
hors de combat. But the Finch, in manoeu- 
vring, grounded, and lay even more helpless, 
raked from ahead by the stern guns of the 
pitiless Ticonderoga, and from astern by the 
one cannon the patients in the hospital on 
Crab Island crawled out to man. She, too, 
hauled down her flag, and her supporting 
gunboats, thus deprived of a head and rally- 

217 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

ing point, failed to turn the stubborn defence 
of the Ticonderoga and pulled out of range. 

At the head of the line the thunderous double 
duel between the Linnet and Confiance on one 
side and Eagle and Saratoga on the other, 
raged on. After routing the Eagle the Linnet 
hauled on her springs until her broadside 
raked the American flagship. The escaped 
Eagle, anchoring off her Commodore's quarter, 
brought her uninjured port battery to his 
assistance against the Confiance. 

The Saratoga needed help. Her spars 
splintered, her bulwarks stove in, her exposed 
battery a wreck, she seemed all but beaten. 
Twice the shot, heated red in the furnace on 
the Confiance's deck, had set her on fire. A 
ragged bundle of bloodied feathers in the 
scuppers was all that was left of her brave 
gamecock. As Lieutenant Peter Gamble 
kneeled to sight the starboard bow gun for a 
shot at the tormenting Linnet a ball entered 
the bridleport and split the quoin. The 
fragments killed him. Aft, on the quarter- 
deck, while the Commodore cheered on his 
men, another shot cut the spanker-boom in 
two. One half of the falling spar knocked 
Macdonough to the deck. He rose, bloody 
and dazed, only to be hurled down again by a 
horrible missile — the head of the captain of 

218 






I 



- z 



/. . 
Z 5 

u 

u ? 



-• 



I 



CHAMPIONS OF CHAMPLAIN 

one of the quarter-guns, knocked off by a 
roundshot ! But one gun of the thirteen 
on the starboard side remained in place. 
Macdonough loaded, aimed, and fired it. The 
naval-bolt broke with the recoil, and the gun 
leaped from its carriage and tumbled down a 
hatchway. The starboard side was defenceless. 

Aboard the Confiance affairs were not much 
better. Downie had been killed. Like the Sara- 
toga's lieutenant, he had beer kneeling, ighting 
a gun, when a shot entered the muzzle, burst 
the piece, and killed him in tantly. 

" Lads," said the captain as they had 
rounded in the braces two hours before for 
the tack to the enemy's line, " we shall be 
immediately assisted by the army ashore. 
Let us show them that our part of the duty 
is well done." 

He never learned how his own death-signal, 
the scaling of the guns, had been answered 
by the imbecile who had nagged him to 
destruction. " Cook breakfast ! ' was Sir 
George Prevost's order to the Peninsular 
veterans when the boom of the blank cart- 
ridges rose on the morning air. They were 
only beginning their march on the fortifica- 
tions of Plattsburg when Downie got his 
deathblow. 

Little knew the rugged tars of the display 

219 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

of insanity ashore, and little they cared whether 
the crossbelted redcoats supported them or 
not, now that their blood was up. But, losing 
their captain, they fought with more furv 
than skill. The new quoins, loosened by 
repeated discharges, let the gun-muzzles rise, 
and the shot flew higher and higher. Of the 
hundreds of hammocks stowed in the nettings 
above the Saratoga's bulwarks only twenty 
were unpierced, when they counted them 
after the battle ; indicating that much of 
the British roundshot ploughed through 
just above the heads of the American 
crew. 

Aboard the Confiance guns were double- 
shotted, treble-shotted, crammed till the 
balls protruded from the muzzles. They 
heated under the heavy charges and burst. 
Others were loaded with double charges of 
shot and wadding and no powder, with cart- 
ridges and no shot, and with the wadding 
below the cartridge. 

' Disabled ! Knocked out ! Try the next 
one ! " the dripping gun crews would roar as 
the laniard was pulled and no explosion 
answered. And so, between the terrible 
destruction of the Saratoga s forty-twos and 
the Eagle's thirty-twos, the British flagship's 
port battery was silenced. 

220 



CHAMPIONS OF CHAMPLAIN 

" Wind her, sailing-master ; she's lost if 
you don't ! " called the first lieutenant. 

" Aye, aye, sir," answered the master. " Lay 
forward and tail on to the starboard spring 
every man that can move a leg ! " 

They swarmed forward from the useless 
guns, led the spring cable inboard, and, some 
toiling " heave-and-paul " at the capstan 
bars, others straining at the " stamp-and-go," 
tried to walk the hawser home, so as to twist 
the ship around until her starboard battery 
bore. It was useless to try to turn her around 
by canvas. She had not enough gear left 
aloft to sheet home one sail. And through the 
bitter grinding toil of heaving on the hawser 
shrieked and sang the Eagle s round-shot. 

From the smoke that swathed the Linnet 
a row-boat appeared. 'Twas the Linnet's 
gig, and her first lieutenant was in it. 

" Captain Pring's compliments to Captain 
Downie," he roared up, as his little craft found 
temporary shelter from the shot,under the Con- 
fiance s side. " How long must we keepit up ? " 

" Captain Downie's dead, and the ship's a 
wreck," returned the first lieutenant of the 
big ship. ' If we can wind her we can keep 
the colours aloft. Are you hard hit ? " 

" Hulled through and through. Even the 
wounded are at the pumps. Not a rope- 

221 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

yarn uncut, to make sail with. We only 
keep afloat by running the guns in on one side 
and out on the other, so as to heel her till the 
shot-holes are out of water. What's the matter 
with the red-coated land lubbers ? What's the 
matter with those sons of sea-cooks in the 
gunboats that they won't tow us off ? " 

" Afraid of their own skins," answered the 
Confiance man. " And God knows the army 
should have carried the shore batteries long 
ere this ! But tell Captain Pring to keep his 
flag flying fifteen minutes longer, an$ we'll 
have the Confiance around and her sound side 
in action. Can you do it ? " 

' God help us, we will ! " roared back the 
Linnet's lieutenant, and the gig pulled away. 

But all the heaving on the hawser failed 
to wind the Confiance round. As she hung, 
a helpless hulk, in the wind's eye, there came 
a boom from the silenced Saratoga, then a 
tremendous roar. Macdonough's resource 
and foresight had been equal to the fervour 
of his prayers. He had succeeded in winding 
his ship. He let go a stern anchor and paid 
out a tremendous scope of cable, attached 
to one of the kedges that had been planted 
broad off his bows. When the ship hung, 
stern to wind, she was terribly raked by the 
sinking Linnet, so much so that her crew were 

222 



CHAMPIONS OF CHAMPLAIN 

all rushed to the forecastle for protection. 
But the long kedge hawser was successfully 
passed under the bows and to the quarter, and, 
all hands tailing on, the ship was turned until 
the whole uninjured port battery bore on the 
foe, and she was once more a fighting machine. 

The execution aboard the still defenceless 
Confiance under the renewed cannonade was 
terrible. It was no longer a battle, it was a 
shipwreck and slaughter. Blood poured from 
her scuppers as would water after shipping 
a heavy sea. The dead so lumbered the decks 
that they had to be thrust through the 
shattered ports. One hundred and seventy 
killed and wounded were found on board. 
One woman was among the victims. She was 
a steward's wife, and when the overworked 
surgeons despaired of handling the wounded 
she came up from the shelter of the lazarette 
to the fighting deck. A wretch lay writhing 
by the companion ladder, one leg mangled 
by a cannon-ball. The woman stooped, tore 
off the folds of her skirt, and began to bind 
up his wound. A roundshot ploughed through 
the bulwarks, struck her in the breast as she 
knelt, and hurled her, a huddled corpse, clear 
across the ship's deck. 

The Confiance' s guns had long been silent. 
Amid the continuous thunder of the Saratoga s 

223 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

broadsides her shot-torn ensign fluttered down 
— and the battle was over. 

But not for the fighting Linnet. Fifteen 
minutes her first lieutenant had promised, 
and for fifteen minutes after he had regained 
his ship his promise was kept. The little 
brig was a target for the guns of the Eagle and 
Saratoga combined, now ; but, defying despair, 
Captain Pring kept his flag aloft. Perhaps 
some gunboat would pluck up the courage of 
very shame and tow him beyond the reach 
of that deadly pair ! Surely the eleven thou- 
sand Peninsulars would capture the batteries 
soon and pummel the Eagle and Saratoga to 
pieces at their moorings ! But Pring forgot 
one thing : Sir George Prevost was in com- 
mand ashore. 

Out of her ship's company of one hundred 
and twenty-five, fifty were killed and wounded 
aboard the Linnet. Captain Pring could not 
see the wounded drown. When the water was a 
foot high above the little brig's deck he struck 
his flag, and the last British ensign settled down. 

Sir George Prevost, who had arrived at 
last within striking distance, saw the fluttering 
colours. To the equal amazement of his 
own army and the enemy he right-about-faced 
and marched away — and the tragedy of 
Plattsburg was completed. 

224 



XIII 

The Spoiling of the Spoilers 

NOR'-NOR'-WEST and east-nor'-east 
the squadron tacked, ploughing 
proud zig-zags in broad Lake 
Huron's bosom ; from truck and peak streamed 
the " Stars and Stripes." 

They were the victors of Put-In Bay the 
year before, bent now, in the glory of the 
summer of 1814, on fresh worlds to conquer. 

The brig Niagara led the van, with her 
twin, the Lawrence, rehabilitated after her 
awful gruelling. The Scorpion and Tigress, 
also veterans of the Battle of Lake Erie, were 
in the fleet, and, like captives chained to the 
chariot wheels, gracing the victor's triumph, 
there sailed with them the ex-British brigs 
Caledonia and General Hunter — the one carried 
by boarding in the Niagara river, the other the 
second ship to strike in the climax of the Erie 
battle. 

If ever vessel felt despair — and who can look 

225 Q 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

a ship in the hawse-pipes and say she does not 
feel ? — it must have been the poor little 
Caledonia. She had been a fur trader, the 
North- West Fur Company's brig. Through 
these waters again and again had she stormed 
her way, up-bound with a cargo of traders' 
stores in springtime, homeward-bound, late 
in the fall, deep-laden with costly skins of 
beaver, otter, fox or bear. Two years ago, 
on the gallant Brock's bold hazard, her brave 
red ensign had proudly waved above the troops 
which surprised Michillimackinac, the Ameri- 
can Gibraltar. It was the Caledonia that 
carried the men who struck that daring stroke. 
And now, with a different flag aloft, and 
eight cannon cumbering her short, broad deck, 
she was driving along with a foreign squadron. 
Their's was the task of hounding down the 
last of her sisters and overwhelming the gallant 
garrison, which, from the first of the war, had 
kept the red flag flying at the furthest out- 
post of settlement, Michillimackinac — now 
trimmed down to Mackinac, the island cliff 
in the Straits of Mackinaw, where Huron 
waters mingle with the waves of Michigan. 

The expedition was the largest launched by 
the Americans for the War of the North-West. 
Perry, the hero of Put-In Bay, had gone back 
to the seaboard. Captain A. Sinclair was 

226 




THE •' NAN< '. 

From a drawing in the John Ross l< iberLson collection of Canadian 
Historic al Pi< tures, Toronto Public Library. 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

Commodore of the fleet. Lieut. -Col. Croghan 
and Major A. H. Holmes, famous for his 
Thames raid of the year before, commanded 
the thousand soldiers who reinforced the five 
hundred seamen and marines. The troops 
were picked from the 17th, 19th and 24th 
regiments of infantry, a battalion of Ohio 
volunteers, and a detachment of United States 
artillery. Field guns and howitzers supple- 
mented the battering powers of the sixty long 
guns and carronades of the fleet. 

Head winds held the vessels nine days in the 
flats of St. Clair, at the entry to Lake Huron ; 
but once the Narrows were past they ploughed 
northwards day and night, rounded the prong 
of Bruce Peninsula, and spread out over that 
great fresh water sea within a fresh water sea, 
Georgian Bay, off Lake Huron. 

The expedition's aim was broad and simple ; 
to obliterate all trace of British power in the 
north-west lake country of Upper Canada. 
The fort at Mackinac was the key to the 
position. Of it the Governor-General of 
Canada had written to Lord Bathurst : 

" Its influence extends and is felt among 
the Indian tribes at New Orleans and the 
Pacific Ocean ; vast tracts of country look 
to it for protection and supplies, and it 
gives security to the great establishments 

227 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

of the North-West and Hudson's Bay 
Fur Companies by supporting the Indians 
on the Mississippi, the only barrier which 
interposes between them and the enemy ; 
and which if once forced their progress 
into the heart of these companies' settle- 
ments by the Red River is practicable and 
would enable them to execute their long 
formed project of monopolizing the whole 
fur trade into their own hands." 

The re-capture of Mackinac was to be the 
American's crowning exploit. As a pre- 
liminary it was proposed to destroy the British 
depot in Matchedash Bay, where they heard 
gunboats were being built and supplies de- 
posited for transport to the outlying posts. 
But where was Matchedash Bay ? The chart 
showed it as a corner off the Georgian ; but 
how was it to be reached ? No pilot in the 
fleet had ever been there. They knew the 
road to Mackinac direct, but not the side 
passages. Sinclair sickened of groping his 
way along a shore where, as he wrote, " there 
is nothing like an anchorage except in the 
mouths of the rivers, the whole coast being a 
steep perpendicular rock." 

" We've fallen suddenly from no soundings 
to three fathoms," he complained to Croghan, 
" and twice to a quarter-less-twain — and the 

228 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

bottom's craggy rock. The water's clear as 
a bell. You could see the bottom as you 
sailed, but for these cursed fogs. It's as thick 
as on the Grand Bank of Newfoundland ! ' 

So after a week of groping for the Matche- 
dash depot the squadron filled their sails for 
the open again and steered north-west for the 
Island of St. Joseph's. 

This is the isle, north-east of Mackinac, 
which marks the entrance to the St. Mary's 
river, beyond whose falls opens out the 
greatest of the inland oceans, Lake Superior. 
Past St. Joseph's went the scanty traffic which 
then communicated with Superior, Michigan, 
Huron and Georgian Bay — fur canoes, bat- 
teaux, and the rare sailing craft which war 
and the wilderness then permitted to navigate 
those savage waters. There was a British 
military post on the island ; but the garrison, 
hearing of the squadron's coming, had aban- 
doned it. 

" An empty nest," quoth Sinclair, ranging 
the shore with his spyglasses. " But yonder's 
consolation for us. See those tops'ls ! ' 

A little trading schooner, swimming deep 
with cargo, had crept around the point of the 
island under which the squadron lay with 
slumbering sails. Like them, she too was 
quickly becalmed in the lee of the shore. 

229 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

A pair of the landing launches which the 
larger brigs towed sped toward her under 
threshing oars. Not a shot was fired. Resist- 
ance was quite useless. In a few moments, 
through the luck of the failing wind,the North- 
West Fur Company's schooner Mink was a 
prize to the American fleet, and the Cale- 
donia had another sister in captivity. 

Search of the Mink's papers and cross- 
questioning of her crew laid the whole situa- 
tion bare. Mackinac was in a bad way. 
The American post at far-off Prairie du Chien 
had just been captured and was being held 
by volunteers from the Mackinac garrison. 
This brilliant stroke strengthened the garri- 
son's prestige but left it weak in numbers. 
Provisions had been scarce, but the supply 
had been renewed, and the Mink, fresh laden 
at Mackinac, had sailed from there for the 
St. Mary's River. She was to transfer her 
cargo of flour and food-stuffs to the Per- 
severance, lying above the " Sault " of the 
St. Mary's. Thus supplies would be passed 
on to Fort William on the north shore of Lake 
Superior, the " grand depot and general 
rendezvous " for the fur trade with the far 
west. The Perseverance was the only vessel 
on Lake Superior ; and, now that the Mink 
was captured, the only other British vessel 

230 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

on the Upper Lakes — or, for that matter, 
above the Falls of Niagara — was Lieut. Miller 
Worsley's schooner Nancy. She was the last 
link between the isolated Mackinac, with its 
depleted store, and the Georgian Bay, where, 
in the Nottawasaga River mouth, supplies 
were loaded after being brought all the way 
across the province of Upper Canada from 
Lake Ontario, or even from Quebec. 

Sinclair looked with longing eyes to Fort 
William, three hundred miles beyond the 
rapids of the St. Mary's river. There was 
two million dollars' worth of furs there ; plenty, 
in his time, to build a war fleet ; but there was 
then no " Soo " canal to take his squadron 
to Lake Superior, and he had to content him- 
self with a raid on the fort and settlement at 
St. Mary's, sixty miles from where the fleet 
lay. 

On Lieut. Daniel Turner, commanding the 
Scorpion, fell the honour of leading the foray. 
Sailors and marines, and infantrymen under 
Major Holmes, embarked in the landing 
launches, and rowed night and day up the 
river against the strong current. As they 
toiled at the oars, nearing the rapids, birch 
bark canoes pushed on before them. Indians 
faithful to the " Union Jack " spread the news 
of their approach. Some of the canoes were 

231 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

chased and sunk. Their crews were killed 
or captured ; but the word was passed on that 
the foe was coming, and the fur company's 
fort was abandoned ere the launches reached it. 

But the Perseverance, lying above the falls, 
was captured. Unable to sail her away 
against the current her crew ran her across 
the river, scuttled her, and set her on fire. 
The raiders now became salvagers, and by 
working might and main, succeeded in ex- 
tinguishing the flames and in stopping the 
leak. 

" A fine new schooner, upwards of one 
hundred tons, and she'll be a severe loss to the 
North-West Company," was Lieut. Turner's 
comment. " We must take her home." 

Three days the raiders waited for a wind 
that would permit them running the river. 
At last, on the 26th of July, it came. The 
Perseverance, stripped bare in order to lighten 
her draught as much as possible, was ' ' tracked ' ' 
along the river bank with long hawsers. 
Faster and faster she floated, until the men on 
the guiding ropes could no longer restrain 
her. The river drops forty-five feet in three- 
quarters of a mile. Into the channel the 
schooner shot, and, borne on a 30-knot 
current, approached the river's " Sault " or 
perpendicular leap of ten feet, between three 

-J- 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

rocks. Past the first rock, past the second, 
she rushed. Then she sheered towards the 
third, ripped her bilge on it with a grinding 
crash, and spun madly on down the rapids. 
So swiftly did she travel that they were able 
to run her on the shore below the rapids before 
she filled ; but she was a hopeless wreck, 
and once more the torch was applied to her. 
This time she burned to ashes. 

All the valuable furs and many portable 
articles had been carried off by their owners 
ere the raiders arrived. Still, Turner and his 
men had counted on loading the Persever- 
ance from the goods remaining in the six 
storehouses of the fur company, and bringing 
in a rich prize. An abandoned work horse, 
unable, by force of habit, to keep away from 
his accustomed stall, strayed back into the 
strangers ranks. Soldiers harnessed the 
beast to a cart they found, and all day long, 
without food or drink or rest, he staggered 
back and forth between the river and the store- 
houses, dragging loads of Indian trading goods 
to the water's edge. Night came. They 
loaded four captured boats with their plunder, 
tied the unfortunate beast in his stall, set 
fire to the stable, and watched his frantic 
plunges with shrieks of laughter which 
matched his screams of pain and fright. 

233 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

A musket cracked and the beast collapsed, 
instantly released from the human hell. 

" Who fired that shot ? " demanded a curs- 
ing corporal. 

" I did," bellowed a fifteen-year-old mid- 
shipman in his face, "and for two pins I'd 
spatter what brains you have over that 
roasting horseflesh ! " 

They burned the stable and the storehouses, 
and a hundred thousand dollars' worth of 
trading goods and provisions, and rejoined 
the Scorpion with their plunder ; and the 
stereotyped report that private property had 
been respected was duly prepared. The 
squadron had already sailed for Mackinac, 
fifty miles from St. Joseph's. 

It blew hard, and for days the island of 
Mackinac was defended by that terror of all 
sailing craft, a lee shore. But on the first 
of August the squadron ventured in and sent 
boatloads of soldiers ashore to capture Indian 
guides. The wily Menomonees fired on them 
from the thickets, but promptly scattered 
whenever a charge was attempted. These 
savages were the staunch allies of the British. 
Commanders, more skilled with the ramrod 
than the pen, wrote enthusiastically in official 
despatches of their gallant conduct, cata- 
loguing them as ' Fallso vines " or " Fall- 

234 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

sovians " in an attempt to give them their 
early French names. The voyageurs had 
called them the Folles Avoines, or Wild 
Oats. 

Failing to get forced guides the squadron 
searched the neighbouring shores until they 
found American settlers who had been to 
Mackinac before the British surprised the 
garrison. These told them of the western 
shore of the island, where there was a break 
in the cliffs, and even the Niagara and the 
Lawrence could anchor within three hundred 
yards of the land. Dense woods stretched 
for two miles between this gap and the open 
space from which the fortress could be assailed. 

On the morning of August 4th a thousand 
soldiers and marines landed. Lieut. -Col. 
Robert McDouall, of the Glengarry Light 
Infantr} 7 , who was in command at Mackinac, 
marched out to meet them with a hundred 
and forty white men (Royal Newfoundland 
Infantry) and a hundred and fifty Indians. 
He selected a thicket near a clearing in the 
dense woods, and when the foe appeared he 
opened fire on them from two field guns. 

They tried to outflank him. The flanking 
party found themselves suddenly surrounded 
by a whooping crowd of invisible savages, 
who seemed to be ubiquitous, and picked off 

235 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

man after man without showing aught but 
the smoke of their rifles. Major Holmes, the 
raider of the Thames and of St. Mary's, fell 
at the first fire. Capt. Desha, upon whom 
the command devolved, was severely wounded 
and fainted from loss of blood. The attackers 
tried to charge, but the elusive Wild Oats 
were here, there and everywhere. 

Plunging through the thickets the troops 
reached a height, only to find their position 
commanded by another ridge, where artillery 
behind a breastwork swept their further 
advance. Capt. Van Home, of the 19th, and 
Lieut. Jackson, of the 24th, fell, mortally 
wounded, and their men retreated. A field 
gun, dragged up from the landing place, 
failed to clear the woods of the terrible un- 
seen sharpshooters with the blood-curdling 
warcries. The retreat became a rout, and 
fearing a massacre Col. Croghan re-embarked 
his troops in the squadron, as fast as they 
returned to the beach. 

The men were terror-stricken. They had 
scarcely seen an enemy, and not one of the 
defenders had been hurt ; but the assailants 
had eighteen killed and fifty-nine wounded. 
As they retreated through the woods they 
stumbled across the bodies of their own 
dead, and many were horrible to look upon. 

236 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

The invisible Indians had rushed upon the 
victims of their deadly aim and scalped them 
as opportunity offered. This fiendish practice 
was discouraged by white commanders on 
both sides, but it was kept up by the brutality 
of American riflemen. At the Battle of the 
Thames, for instance, riflemen scalped and 
flayed completely a corpse which they 
thought to be that of the heroic Tecumseh. 
" Tecumseh razor-strops," of human skin were 
to be found in Kentucky for a generation 
afterwards. 

So great was the confusion that the body of 
Major Holmes and others of the dead were 
left behind, and even some of the wounded 
were abandoned. Next morning a white 
flag was sent ashore, and with the grim 
McDouall's permission the body of the 
raiding major was secured and borne aboard 
the Lawrence, for burial at Detroit. And the 
squadron sailed away. 

Whither ? 

That was a question McDouall could not 
answer directly, but he made a shrewd guess. 
He might almost have been present at the 
counsel of war in the Niagara's cabin. 

" A bad business, colonel," said Sinclair to 
Croghan. " We'll keep you near this island 
while the canvas stays in the bolt-ropes, if 

237 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

such is your wish, but I fear you'll never take 
it. Why, man, the place is a very Gibraltar 
in front, and from the rear — well, human 
beings can't pass through those woods rilled 
with red devils ! " 

" I felt sure the task was too heavy tor 
us, but it would never do to go back without 
making a try," returned Croghan. " What 
do you advise ? " 

" Gently does it," answered Sinclair. 
" Starve 'em out." 

" But," objected Croghan, " we'll starve 
ourselves in the process, with no supplies 
nearer than Detroit ; and your fleet cannot 
keep the lake with the autumn gales 
threatening, you say ! " 

' No," said Sinclair, " we can't. The loss 
of an anchor, the chafing of a cable on this 
sharp bottom, might put us all in grave 
jeopardy. We're too far from a base of 
supplies. But here's the plan. Mackinac's 
cupboard is bare. They sent away part of 
their winter's provision to Fort William in 
the Mink. We've that under hatches, and 
there's only one way they can get more. The 
four-gun schooner Nancy is the only British 
craft left in these waters. She sailed from 
Mackinac, to load stores at the mouth of the 
Nottawasaga, before we attacked the island. 

238 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

Capture her, and we have two fine prizes to 
show for our expedition " 

" That's all very well for you," interrupted 
Croghan, " but all I'll have to show will be 
the body of poor Holmes." 

" No, listen," went on the sailor, " you'll 
have more. With the Nancy captured 
McDouall will just have to starve to death 
on his rock, or clamber down from his perch 
this winter, and march away over the ice. 
Why, do you know what food was worth in 
Mackinac even before we captured the 
Mink P Flour sixty dollars a barrel, and 
pork fifty cents a pound. They've been 
drying fish to help them through the winter. 
Capture the Nancy, and Mackinac falls, as 
sure as the law of gravitation ; and with 
Mackinac, all the Hudson Bay and North- West 
fur establishments. What say you, sailing- 
master ? " 

The Niagara's sailing-master, an old seaman 
whose experience made him a privileged 
listener at these councils, shook his head. 

1 Your plan's good, sir, but I doubt if the 
Nancy'H ever fly the ' Stars and Stripes.' 
She's a wonderful lucky vessel, sir, and the 
men in her are tigers." 

" You know her then ? " asked the colonel. 
' That I do, for I saw her launched. For 

239 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

all she's a Britisher, she was built at Detroit 
for a Montreal fur-trading firm. They spent 
a mint o' money on her — nothing but the 
best of white oak and red cedar went into her, 
and none of your fresh-cut forest stuff at 
that, but well-seasoned timber, some of it 
brought out from England. They brought 
her figure-head all the way up from New 
York, full seven hundred miles. Skelling, 
the noted carver, did it — a lady in the full 
costume of the day, with hat and feather. 
The lady's gear may be out o' style now, for 
the Nancy was launched in 1789, but she's 
sound as a nut yet. 

" And her crew I I don't know much of 
this young salt water lieutenant that's in 
charge of her, but her old sailing-master, 
Alex. Mcintosh, is one 0' the pious Presby- 
terians that fears neither man nor devil. He 
brought her down Lake Huron, to load at 
Amherstberg for Mackinac, just after the 
Battle of Put-In Bay. The cautious old 
boy sent ashore, after crossing Lake St. Clair 
and getting into the Detroit River, to find out 
if it was safe to venture down. When he 
found the whole British fleet had been 
captured he made sail for home again, but the 
light wind forced him to anchor. 

" A raiding party from Detroit tried to 

240 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

snap him up. They sent him word that they 
were a party of fifty Canadian militia, and 
the lieutenant-colonel commanded that he 
should turn the vessel over to them, for 
protection. 

" ' And if I don't ? ' he asked the messenger. 

" ' We'll be forced to fire on you.' 

" ' Hoo mony men hae ye ? ' he asked. 

" ' Fifty,' he was told. 

" ' Ower mony for the Nancy to ferry,' 
he said. ' Tell your colonel I'm conseedering, 
and he'll soon ken ma deceesion.' 

" With that the messenger had to go ashore. 
The old Scot at once began to heave up his 
anchor. When the party saw what his 
' deceesion ' was they opened fire on him. 
He fished his anchor and blazed back at them 
with his little carronades and muskets. 
They daren't trust themselves to the small 
leaky canoe, the only boat they had, and for 
half an hour they fired on the schooner from 
the shore, as she slowly stemmed the current 
in the light air. Her crew lay down behind 
the bulwarks and kept up a fusillade, but the 
old man stood like a lighthouse at the helm, 
and never dodged, though the shots were 
splintering the main-boom and railing around 
him. A cartridge exploded on board, and 
set fire to her mainsail, but the crew, jumping 

241 R 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

up with buckets, drenched the canvas, and 
the schooner sailed clear of the shore at last, 
and on up the river for Lake St. Clair. 

" I have it from one of his crew that all the 
while they were passing Detroit that night 
the only light aboard was a slow-match in 
the fist of Alex. Mcintosh. The old man 
stood by a powder keg at the foot of the 
mainmast, and vowed he'd blow the Nancy 
to Kingdom Come before an American foot 
should touch her deck. And that's the ship 
and crew you've got to catch ! " 

Colonel Croghan had waited impatiently 
for the end of the yarn. 

" Well, Sinclair," said he, " let's catch her ! " 

" Aye, aye," said Sinclair. " Our course 
shall be straight for the mouth of the Notta- 
wasaga. We've four hundred and fifty men 
in the Niagara as she is, colonel. Suppose 
we keep them, and send the rest of the fleet 
home with the other troops. I'll keep the 
little Tigress, and the Scorpion, too — 
Turner's a good man for cutting-out work, and 
his schooner's smart. She caught the last 
fugitive from the Battle of Lake Erie, they 
tell me." 

And so the brig and two schooners steered 
east, and the other vessels of the squadron 
held southward for Detroit. 

242 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

On a bright August morning — the thirteenth 
— the three bloodhounds backed their topsails 
and hove-to off the pineclad sandbanks which 
mark the mouth of the Nottawasaga in 
Georgian Bay. They lay far offshore, for 
the diligent leadsmen warned them that the 
water was shoal. Equally diligent lookouts 
in the crosstrees searched the shore with spy- 
glasses and reported nothing but unbroken 
wilderness — except some deserted Indian 
wigwams at the river's mouth. 

" Perhaps," suggested Croghan, " the 
Nancy has not yet arrived. Could we warp 
into the river and surprise her when she 
enters ? " 

" She's too wary a bird to be caught that 
way," said Sinclair, " if all the sailing-master 
says about Lieut. Worsley and Alex. 
Mcintosh is true. But we'll have a closer 
look for her." 

They sent their small boats ashore, but 
although they found evidences of the wig- 
wams having been recently occupied there 
was no sign of a vessel. They reported, 
moreover, that while the sandbanks formed 
a high ridge where the river entered the bay, 
two miles to the westward the shore was 
smooth and lower, and offered a good camp- 
ing ground. The idea appealed to the 

243 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

commander of the soldiers, cooped in three 
companies in a brig one hundred and ten feet 
long, so the flotilla made sail again and stood 
west for two miles and anchored. 

When the landing party went to prepare 
the camp site their scouts stared in amaze- 
ment at what they found among the trees 
back of the beach. Crossing a small ridge 
they found the river again ; it paralleled the 
shore, instead of flowing at right angles to it ; 
and there among the pine-tops, gilded by 
slanting rays of summer sunlight, speared the 
topmasts of a schooner — the Nancy. It 
could be no other. 

Cautiously crawling to the edge of the ridge 
which overhung the river the scouts noted 
every detail of her position. She had been 
warped or towed by her boats this far along 
the winding stream, and moored against the 
southerly bank, where the ground was highest. 
On the ridge above her a blockhouse of fresh 
hewn logs showed. It mounted three guns 
— two twenty-four-pounders and a six- 
pounder field-piece. Screened among the 
trees, the scouts could count every man of 
the little company which had quarters there 
— twenty-one seamen of the Royal Navy, 
nine French-Canadian voyageurs, and twenty- 
three Indians. They were all busily engaged 

244 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

strengthening the defences of the blockhouse, 
as though their position had been but recently 
taken. 

The scouts stole back, as they thought, 
unobserved. There was no camping on the 
beach that night for the ship-weary soldiers ; 
but with the first rays of the dawn the fleet 
was moored in a position in the bay exactly 
opposite their foe in the river, still invisible 
behind the sand ridge and belt of trees. 
Sunrise was saluted with the thunderous roar 
of the Niagara s ten-gun broadside, and the 
lesser concussions of the schooners' long guns. 
If they hoped to annihilate a sleeping enemy 
Captain Sinclair and Col. Croghan were 
speedily undeceived. Prompt as an echo 
came back the answering crash of three guns 
from the blockhouse ; and for hours the tree 
tops and sand ridge were torn by an exchange 
of twenty-four pound cannon-balls. The 
liveliness of the replies from the blockhouse 
proved that the defenders were suffering little 
damage from the blindfold bombardment ; 
so the fleet landed soldiers and howitzers. 
The landing party quickly dragged their 
artillery to the crest of the ridge, and opened 
a destructive fire upon the schooner and 
blockhouse on the opposite side of the river, 
within two hundred yards distance. 

245 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

The spirited detence ceased with great 
suddenness. There was complete silence for 
a few moments on both sides. It was broken 
by a flaming shell from one of the howitzers 
which landed fairly inside the blockhouse. 
The whole place burst into flames. A 
deafening crash told the Americans that the 
British magazine had blown up. Soldiers 
ran cheering down the sand ridge, followed 
by marines staggering under the smallest of 
the ship's boats. They pushed across the 
river, but ere they could gain the deck of the 
schooner she too was in flames, and small 
explosions in different parts of her frightened 
them from boarding. She burned furiously, 
for she was laden, as they suspected, with 
flour and fat pork. The brimming river 
suddenly swallowed her hissing hulk. 

Climbing the opposite bank the attacking 
party found the fort in ruins, and a trail of 
scattered articles marking the flight of its 
defenders into the woods. They would have 
followed, but a spattering fire from Indian 
rifles, and the grisly memory of the scalpings 
at Mackinac held them back. The three 
guns of the fort had been spiked. A batteau 
which had been moored near the Nancy had 
escaped destruction. With this prize they 
were forced to content themselves. Among 

246 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

the trees they found the desk of the Nancy's 
commander, hurled thither by the explosion. 
In it was this letter : — 

" Michillimackinac, 28th July, 1814. 

" Sir — The American expedition, 
destined for the attack of this island, 
having at length made its appearance, I 
hasten to apprise you of the circumstance, 
lest the Nancy and her valuable cargo 
fall into their hands. I have taken such 
precautions as were in my power to make 
you acquainted with this event in case 
you may be on your passage. If so, I 
would recommend you to return to the 
Nottawasaga river and to take up the 
Nancy as high as possible, place her in a 
judicious position and hastily run up a 
log-house (such as were made when the 
boats were built, but larger), with loop- 
holes and embrasures for your six-pounders 
which will enable you to defend her should 
you be attacked, which is not unlikely." 

"Col. McDouall to Lieut. Worsley, I'll 
warrant," commented Sinclair. " Well, the 
colonel was a good guesser. Hope he's 
pleased at the way Worsley carried out 
instructions and we've fulfilled his ex- 
pectations ! " 

" Not much of a prize, Commodore, that 

247 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

solitary batteau and the three spiked guns," 
said Col. Croghan, " but we've accomplished 
a great deal. With the Nancy out of the way, 
as you said before we came here, McDouall 
will be starved out, and Mackinac will be ours 
when we come again in the spring." 

And so, well satisfied, Sinclair sailed for 
home with his brig loaded with soldiers, and 
the captured batteau towing astern behind his 
big landing launch. To the Scorpion and 
Tigress he had assigned the monotonous task 
oi blockading the river mouth until the fall 
gales made it impossible for them to remain 
longer on the lake or for Mackinac to com- 
municate with the river. There was just a 
chance that some reckless Britishers might 
still try to reach the island with provisions 
from York via the Nottawasaga, carried in 
batteaux. 

He left strict instructions for the isolated 
vessels to guard against surprise or loss ; 
warning them to be very careful about 
anchoring, or sending men ashore, or lying at 
night without boarding nettings up. The 
stealthy redskin in his canoe was never to be 
given an opportunity of adding to his string 
of scalps, nor was the desperation of a 
starving enemy to be ignored. 

Left to his own devices, Lieut. Turner, of 

248 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

the Scorpion, the senior officer of the pair, 
had better ways of passing the time than 
watching the sand-bars at the river mouth. 
He heard that rich-laden fur-canoes were 
coasting the northern shore of Georgian Bay. 
It came on to blow very hard — so hard that 
the Niagara herself, hundreds of miles away 
now on her home journey, was embayed, 
and for four hours fought for her life, shipping 
tons of water, and only escaping from the 
dread Lake Huron lee-shore by cutting 
adrift her launch and batteau, and sending 
her guns down the hatches. The gale gave 
a good excuse for leaving the inhospitable 
wilderness around the Nottawasaga ; so, 
acting quite within the scope of his instruc- 
tions, Lieut. Turner despatched the Tigress 
to cruise for fur-canoes in the vicinity of 
the Island of St. Joseph's, and followed her 
himself in the Scorpion. Ere he left the 
river he felled trees across it, to blockade its 
mouth. He did not trouble to explore it 
further up than the site of the Nancy's 
blockhouse. 

When the last sun of August was sinking 
a canoe came under the shadows of the heights 
of Mackinac. She was a large Indian craft, 
filled with a score of warriors, wild-looking as 
birch-bark vessel ever floated. Shaggy of 

249 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

mane were they, and unshorn and red as 
copper from the flame of the sun ; but their 
features were those of white men. Their 
clothing might have belonged to any 
nation ; still, he who steered wore tattered 
blue and white with brass buttons, and had 
epaulettes on his shoulders. His was a navy 
lieutenant's uniform. 

" By the powers, it's Worsley ! " shouted 
McDouall, running down to the little beach 
at the foot of the cliffs. " Where's the 
Nancy ? " 

It was Worsley. " In the Nottawasaga, 
colonel," said he. 

" Praise be " began the commander of 

the garrison, but a glance at the wayworn 
crew who surrounded the young lieutenant 
silenced him. 

" She'll never leave there, colonel," said 
Worsley quietly. " They tracked us home 
and shelled us out — two schooners and a 
brig. We fought 'em for hours — three guns 
to two dozen, and I had only one lad killed 
and one wounded. I had laid a train from 
our blockhouse to the schooner, to blow her 
up if the worst came to the worst. When 
they got their howitzers ashore they made it 
so hot for us we had to spike our guns, and 
get ready to leave. A shell blew up our 

250 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

magazine, and set fire to the schooner, saving 
us the trouble. She burned to the water's 
edge, and her three hundred barrels of flour 
went up in smoke with her. We retreated 
through the woods, a mile further up the river 
to the second blockhouse. 

" The brig sailed away next day and left 
the schooners to keep up a blockade. They 
cleared out without finding us. Two batteaux 
and Livingstone's canoe were at the second 
blockhouse " 

"Oh, Livingstone delivered my message 
then ? " interrupted McDouall. 

" Yes, and hurried off across the country 
to York, and then on to Fort Erie, for help 
for us," said Worsley. " He had just re- 
turned, with a score of Indians he had mus- 
tered, when the American squadron appeared. 
He's a wonder that Indian agent ! 

" We loaded seventy barrels of flour into 
the batteaux and dropped down the river 
with them and the canoe. We lifted the trees 
the Americans had felled, and passed out 
unseen. And then we rowed and rowed and 
rowed, with such help as we could get from 
the batteaux 's lug-sails when the wind was fair. 
We coasted north through the Ten Thousand 
Islands to the Manitoulin, and passed it and 
along the North Channel, till we came to 

251 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

St. Joseph's. We've been rowing and 
paddling day and night for a week — three 
hundred and sixty miles ! " 

" But where are the batteaux ? " asked 
McDouall, with a tightening of the belt which 
indicated that the seventy barrels of flour 
were the most interesting part of the narrative. 

" Fifty miles back, safe hidden in a little 
island," said Worsley. " When we got near 
St. Joseph's we sighted the very schooners 
that had destroyed the Nancy. They were 
cruising, Indians told us, on the hunt for 
fur-traders. I couldn't pass them in the 
Detour Channel very well, so I hid the 
batteaux and came on with the canoe. We 
paddled within a hundred yards of one of 
the schooners in the darkness of last night." 

" Well, welcome, boy, welcome, to what 
we've got," said the Colonel. "You must 
rest to-night, and to-morrow we'll send for 
those batteaux." 

' To-morrow," said Worsley, " I am going 
for those schooners ! " 

Next day four large rowboats and a convoy 
of Indian craft left Mackinac. They reached 
the hiding place of the flour-laden batteaux, 
and found the faithful Livingstone on guard. 
He and W r orsley set out in a light canoe to 
track down their quarry. Ere long, satisfied 

252 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

of the whereabouts of one of the vessels, they 
returned to the rendezvous and made a 
selection. Ninety-two picked men were 
divided among the four boats. They were 
a fine fighting company — voyageurs, blue- 
jackets of the Royal Navy from the Nancy 
crew, men of the Royal Newfoundland 
Regiment, and three Indian chiefs. Two 
hundred braves in nineteen canoes had 
joined Worsley's expedition, for word came 
in ere he left Mackinac that the American 
schooners had won over a large body of 
Indians to co-operate with them in the capture 
of the fur-traders. 

" This is like to prove bloody work," said 
Worsley to Livingstone, " and I'd rather 
your red friends had no hand in it, unless 
some of their complexion have actually 
joined the ' Stars and Stripes.' " 

Thus it was that the braves, with the 
exception of three chiefs, remained at the 
hiding place. The scouting of the two 
lieutenants had revealed no Indian canoes 
around the vessel they had seen. 

In the midnight darkness of the third of 
September four boats with padded rowlocks 
noiselessly surrounded a schooner lying at 
anchor in the Detour Passage. The long 
pennant which blew from her masthead, 

253 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

distinguishable even in the night against the 
faint light of the stars, marked her as a 
war vessel ; but no boarding netting guarded 
her decks. 

The muffled oars brought the boats within 
ten yards of the doomed craft ere her lookouts 
detected their presence. The sentries' 
challenge roused the crowded crew, sleeping 
on deck for greater comfort. Receiving no 
answer to their hail, the lookouts fired the 
schooner's swivel gun. The flash of the 
explosion showed the four boats sweeping 
alongside. Next instant over the port and 
starboard bulwarks swarmed a crowd of bush- 
rangers, soldiers, and bluejackets, and the 
three Indian chiefs. Outnumbered three to 
one the defenders fought with desperation, 
back to back. There was so little room on 
that crowded deck that the dead were hurled 
overboard as they fell, and some of the 
wounded were only saved from following 
them by the bayonets of the Royal New- 
foundlanders which pinned them to the 
planking. 

Around the swivel-gun amidships the fight 
was fiercest. A negro giant of the schooner's 
crew resolved on a desperate reined} 7 . Cram- 
ming the gun-barrel with a bag of slugs he 
swung the piece around and trained it so as 

254 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

to sweep the deck of friend and foe alike. 
The flash of a pistol showed him in the very 
act of pulling the lanyard. With the leap 
of a mountain-cat Alexander Mcintosh, the 
Nancy's old sailing-master, sprang towards 
him, whirling his cutlass as he came. The 
blade made a complete circle, and the 
gunner's head spun bubbling overside. 
Mcintosh's leap brought him full tilt against 
the ghastly trunk ere it fell. " Follow your 
heid, mon ! " he roared, and seizing the huge 
bulk he hurled it, too, over the bulwarks, into 
the crimsoned water. 

Despite the furious resistance of the 
schooner's crew, numbers prevailed. Her 
commander was cut down, two other officers 
fell, and her seamen were driven down the 
hatches into the hold, where they surrendered, 
after killing one of the boarders by firing 
through the bulkheads. 

The vessel was the Tigress, and she was 
commanded by sailing-master Champlin, 
who, in the Scorpion the year before, fired 
the first and last guns in the Battle of Put-in 
Bay. Champlin was wounded, but not 
fatally. His conquerors found the dead 
bodies of three Americans aboard. They 
themselves had lost three seamen killed and 
six soldiers and a gunner and one of their 

255 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

lieutenants wounded. How many of the 
enemy were killed and thrown overboard 
could not be determined. Four wounded 
Americans were found. The Tigress had a 
crew of thirty-one men, and her armament was 
the twenty-four-pounder swivel-gun which had 
been near obliterating the boarding party. 

Worsley read, with much the feelings of 
the man who peruses his own obituary, the 
entries in the log of the Tigress telling of the 
destruction of the Nancy. 

' Last night," said he to Livingstone, 
' there was not a masthead left to fly the 
British flag on the Upper Lakes. This 
morning we are as strong as we were before 
the Nancy was lost. Surely we can com- 
pletely balance the poor old girl's account ! " 

" Then don't be in too great haste to see 
the good flag flying," was Livingstone's 
enigmatic answer. 

Worsley looked at him, and aloft again at 
the American pennant which still streamed 
from the Tigress's truck. 

1 I understand," said he. The other 
schooner can't have heard the firing ? " 

' If she has she will be in all the greater 
haste to ask the Tigress about it," said 
Livingstone with a laugh. 

The skilful scout put off in his canoe and 

256 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

in two hours returned with the news that 
the other schooner was far off among the 
islands, slowly beating up towards the Tigress 
in the light breeze. No time was to be lost. 
The four boats, loaded with the crew of the 
Tigress and a strong guard, were started for 
Mackinac ; and all day long the Tigress' 
pennant continued to wave a fatal welcome 
in the faint air, while the schooner's anchor 
still gripped the bottom. 

A search of her lazarette showed she had 
little spare cordage and no signal flags. 
Apparently the consorts exchanged infor- 
mation merely by boat or hail of trumpet. 
It was the evening of September fifth before 
the other vessel rounded the last intervening 
headland. The weather had been undergoing 
one of the autumnal lulls which lake sailors 
call " breeding spells " and the wind was 
just strong enough to give her steerage way. 
When it failed altogether at sunset she let 
go her anchor. She was then still two miles 
from the Tigress. 

" Smarter than this one, and heavier in 
metal," commented Worsley. " At the Notta- 
wasaga she was throwing twelve-pound and 
twenty-four-pound balls. We shall have to 
take her by boarding. I'm glad she didn't 
try to exchange signals ! " 

257 s 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

It was a quiet night aboard the second 
schooner, but a feverish one aboard the 
Tigress. 

' What worm is our early bird after ? ' 
queried the Scorpion's gunner — for of course 
the second schooner was she — as he saw the 
Tigress hoist jib and foresail in the glow of 
early dawn and stand down towards his own 
vessel. 

The gunner and the watch were washing 
down the Scorpion's decks. 

' Pass the word below that the Tigress is 
standing down," he called to the boatswain. 

"The Old Man says it's about time," 
returned that worthy after emerging from the 
cabin. Lieutenant Turner however remained 
below. 

" Look at them in their great coats while 
we're shivering around in our bare feet," 
complained one of the deck-swabbers as a 
dozen muffled figures showed at the Tigress's 
rail. 

' Look out, you lubber ! " called the gunner 
suddenly. " You'll foul us, first thing you 
know ! " 

But the Tigress, only a dozen }^ards away, 
luffed, tired her swivel gun's charge full into 
the hull of her late consort, and ranged along- 
side. Up through her opened hatches 

258 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

poured half a hundred bluejackets and red- 
coats, who came leaping over the Scorpions 
bulwarks almost before the two vessels 
touched. The half-dozen deck-swabbers were 
killed or wounded by the first volley from the 
boarders' muskets ; and the thirty soldiers 
and sailors, who formed the balance of the 
Scorpions crew, were penned below decks 
with her commander without a chance of 
escape. She was a much easier prize for 
Worsley than the Tigress had been. In her 
capture he had only one seaman injured. 

With the upshooting of the sun, the 
signal halyards of both vessels were manned, 
and the " Stars and Stripes " came down — to 
rise again immediately, but never more to 
reach the truck ; for above them soared the 
meteor flag of England. In the first real 
awakening of the wind of September the 
Tigress and Scorpion came threshing home 
to Mackinac, the gladdest sight Robert 
McDouall's eyes had seen since the day he 
got word of the capture of Prairie du Chien. 

Worsley's estimate of the capabilities of 
his second prize proved accurate. She could 
outsail the Tigress, and she had one more gun, 
although, its carriage being out of repair, it 
had been stowed in the hold. Aboard her 
were many articles of private property, 

259 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

plundered in the raid on St. Joseph's, where 
the Mink was captured, and at St. Mary's, 
where the Perseverance was burned. 

The Nancy's commander's idea of requital 
was broad and free. He took these two 
vessels, which had all but annihilated 
British power in the Upper Lake region, and 
forthwith made them the nucleus of a fresh 
British fleet. The Tigress became His 
Britannic Majesty's schooner Surprise, in 
memory of what had befallen her. The 
Scorpion was renamed the Confiance, in 
honour of the ship Sir James Lucas Yeo, the 
lake Commodore, captured from the French 
and commanded before coming to fresh water. 
Worsley sent the Surprise and the Confiance 
back to the river mouth of the Nottawasaga, 
with their original crews in their holds as 
prisoners of war. At the depot they were 
landed and marched across the province of 
Upper Canada to Lake Ontario, for trans- 
portation to Quebec. The schooners, on 
the return trip to Mackinac, brought enough 
provisions to keep grim Robert McDouall, 
his blue-nose fishermen-soldiers, and his 
copper-hued Wild Oats, in plenty for a twelve- 
month ; and so the Gibraltar of the north 
was held for Britain as long as the warflags 
flew. 

260 





REMAINS .11 I If ■- SCORPION, [.,!;, IN COI.BORNE BASIN 
I'ENETANGUISHENE HARBOUR, ONTARIO 



THE SPOILING OF THE SPOILERS 

To this day may be found, in the Notta- 
wasaga river, two miles from its mouth, the 
Nancy's bones. Where she sank she formed 
a shoal, and this has grown to a tree-covered 
island, a thousand feet long, a living mauso- 
leum. The old ship's sternpost and floor 
timbers show among the lily-pads at one edge 
of the island, where the current keeps the 
silt from completely covering her. The ancient 
planking is black as bog oak, and dries out 
to a beautiful blue grey. It is as hard as 
teak. 

Twenty miles away from the Nottawasaga, 
in the deep-gashed harbour of Penet- 
anguishene, lies the hulk of the Scorpion, 
sunk there, after some years service as H.M. 
schooner Confiance. She is in Colborne 
Basin, opposite the British naval depot, and 
there is plenty of her left to prove her a full- 
bowed, beamy little schooner, fifty feet on 
the keel and at least twenty feet broad. 
Penetanguishene, selected as the close of 
the war as a naval station of the Upper Lakes, 
was the laying-up depot after the treaty 
of disarmament, and in addition to the 
remains of the Scorpion bow ribs of the 
brigantine Naawash and the bottom of the 
schooner Tecumseh are still to be seen in the 
harbour. Many a paying-off pennant has 

261 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

flown in this Haven of the White Rolling 
Sands, as the long name is interpreted ; but 
never one with wilder history than that 
which fluttered down when the Confiance 
was towed over into Colbome Basin, to end 
her days among the reeds, in the bay where 
Champlain's campfires once blazed among 
the Huron wigwams of Ihonatiria. 



262 



XIV 

The Silent St. Lawrence 

STORY OF THE SHIP WHICH ENDED THE 
WAR WITHOUT FIRING A SHOT 

"On the 15th of October the St. Lawrence 
sailed, bearing Sir James Yeo and more than a 
thousand men. She was accompanied by four 
ships, two brigs, and a schooner, and from 
that time the baronet, with his great ship, was 
lord of the Lake."— Lossing. 



L 



u TJ" EM the Dreamer," they called him in 
the Kingston ship-yards ; but no 
man swung a heavier spike-maul 
than the young giant whose blue eyes always 
seemed to be looking past whatever they were 
bent upon. He was ' Brother Lemuel ' to 
the little sect known as the Children of 
Peace. They looked askance at his labour 
in the Royal dockyard at Point Frederick, 
upon those unholy wooden monsters of war 
and destruction ; and Sir James Yeo, com- 
mander-in-chief on the Great Lakes, looked 
blackly at him when the dock-yard master 
described him as " one o' those Quakerish 

263 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

people." Lemuel's strength and skill made him 
welcome among the shipwrights nevertheless, 
just as his gentleness and humility preserved 
his place among the chosen few who formed 
the congregation with which he worshipped. 

Lemuel lived with his aunt, a thrifty house- 
wife whose wealth was reputed to be greater 
than her charity. Be that as it may, she 
was a good housekeeper, and if his soul 
lacked sympathy, his socks were neatly darned. 

Nine o'clock struck one winter's night. 
Lemuel's aunt had gone to bed. He was 
poring over a draughting-board in the 
cheerful living-room of their cottage, slowly 
working out the sheerplan of a brig which 
was to carry more guns on less draught than 
aught yet built on Lake Ontario ; and yet to 
have an unexcelled turn of speed. Lemuel 
had ideas. His aunt derided his " paper 
ships ' which never sailed further than the 
desk on the living-room, but Lemuel smiled 
and only said, " Some day." 

This night he had an extra hour's candle- 
light, because someone had to watch the great 
ham set to boil on the unique treasure of the 
household, the iron kitchen stove. In 1814 
cooking in Canada was done almost ex- 
clusively at the open fire-place. 

A tapping, cautious but persistent, brought 

264 




' ! il 






I 



i 






r -_' s £ 






K £ k - 

■- ' 

.2 - 

5-1 kS 



7 v. -5 - - 

; u jJ a) ti " 



- i r ' — 



.'"i'-f 



f 



f.fi 






-^ : 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

Lemuel to the door. He admitted a shivering 
rat-faced wretch, garbed as a sailor and reeking 
of whisky. Yet he was glib enough of 
tongue. " For the love o' God, matey, give 
us a bite to eat and a bare board to lie on," 
he implored. " I've tramped all the way 
from York to find a berth, and I'm dead 
beat. For the love o' God " 

" A sacred name, friend," said Lemuel. 
" Be warmed and fed." He seated his un- 
savoury guest by the radiant stove and set 
bread and meat on the table, and flanked 
the repast with a flagon of maple syrup and 
another of milk. 

" Thee must lie on the rug by the stove," 
Lemuel explained apologetically. " For my 
bed is narrow and I am not a small man." 

" Right-o, matey," responded his guest 
from the depths of his milk-mug. And 
Lemuel slipped back to his draughting-board. 

" Lemuel " called his aunt, " what do you 
mean by leaving a tramp in the kitchen ? " 

" I thought thee was asleep," answered 
Lemuel guilelessly. ' But there is naught the 
poor wretch can take, once he has had his meal, 
save a boiling ham and a red-hot stove." 

And so he went on with his calculation 
of bearings and buoyancy, and the clock 
struck ten unheeded. Lemuel was recalled 

265 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

to the present somewhat abruptly by the 
night-gowned figure of his aunt appearing 
from the kitchen. 

' ' Well," she announced with much emphasis, 
" your friend has left the red-hot stove ! ' 

Lemuel looked into the kitchen with amaze- 
ment. The supper was gone — naturally ; but 
the man was gone ; and the ham was gone ; 
naught remained but the glowing stove and 
an odour of whisky. His aunt's wrath found 
vent in a diatribe against Children of Peace, 
who mooned over pictured warships, while 
the enemy, the real enemy, the ravager of 
homes — and hams — was in the gate ; and 
Lemuel went to bed with a heavy heart. He 
was sorry for the mishap to his aunt's larder ; 
he was sorry for the thieving sailor ; and his 
conscience reproached him in a blind unreason- 
ing way, that he, a Child of Peace, should be 
finding his bread by day and delight by night, 
in building ships of wicked war, from wood 
and on paper. 

Homeward bound in the early twilight 
from the ship-yard the day following, Lemuel 
found a great crowd in the market square. 
His height gave him a view of that which 
attracted them. Seized to the pillory, which 
men then thought a necessary adjunct of 
any market-place, stood the rat-faced wretch 

266 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

who had visited his house the night before. 
Lemuel recognized him, although his sailor's 
jacket had been stripped from him and he 
stood, naked to the waist, in the January 
air. His back was criss-crossed with a hid- 
eous diamond-pattern in purple and scarlet. 
A lusty boatswain stood by him, negligently 
swaying back and forth the terrible " cat." 
The naked one had just been publicly flogged. 
He stood or hung at the pillory, as though 
incapable of further feeling ; his arms, bound 
to the cross-beam, upraised as in some horrible 
mockery of blessing. 

The boatswain stepped aside, and a sooty 
smith took his place. He had a brazier, and 
he blew on his coals with a bellows until the 
whole pan glowed. Suddenly he plucked 
forth from the midst an iron rod — black at 
the handle, ruddy further down, and blazing, 
white-hot at the end, with a capital "D." 
He thrust it at the naked man's right arm-pit. 
There was a shriek, and the nauseating stench 
of burning flesh. Then the figure was loosened 
from the pillory, flung into a sleigh, and covered 
with a sack. The sleigh started for the jail. 

" Served him right," Lemuel heard the 
people muttering. ' A deserter, a drunken, 
thieving deserter ! Like as not he was bound 
for Pirate Bill Johnston's gang down the river. 

267 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

He'd sell us to the Yankees, I've no doubt ! ' 

But Lemuel went home, white as the snow 
he trod, his blue eyes blazing like the winter 
sky when the sun gives all light and no heat. 
He sat late over his draughting-board that 
night. His aunt, vaguely apprehensive, knit- 
ted silently at the opposite side of the table 
until it was long past bedtime. The white- 
faced giant drew in and rubbed out gun-port 
after gun-port in the brig's side ; but past 
the paper the blue eyes always saw the human 
being like a trapped rat, the relentless exe- 
cutioners, the approving mob. It was war 
made men like that, he felt ; war made the 
deserter, war made his executioners, war made 
the mob. He himself had been a spectator 
of war now these two } r ears. He had seen 
the widow's tears and heard the orphan's 
wails after battle ; he had seen the riot of 
triumph around the blazing bonfires when the 
fleet came steering in from the Ducks with 
prize-ships in tow. But behind all the grand- 
eur and the glory and the pathos and the 
patriotism he saw the degraded deserter, with 
outstretched arms in mocking benediction ; 
and there beat in his cars, louder than the 
piercing shriek, a promise in thunder : ' There 
shall be no more war ! " 

Rising suddenly the giant carefully un- 

268 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

pinned his draught from the board, ripped it 
in two, and crumpled the fragments in his 
mighty fists. 

You will feel better, Lemuel," said his 
aunt, with gentleness rare for her. " I don't 
mean you have been doing wrong, but if your 
conscience is ill at ease, don't go against it." 

The dreamer smiled at her indulgently. 
He smoothed out a fresh sheet on his board 
and another and another, until his whole 
board was covered. Then, swiftly ruling 
off base-lines and sections, he sketched in 
bold profile the outline of a vessel many times 
as large as the brig on which he had laboured ; 
a ship with double decks of guns, so many 
guns that her side looked like the combined 
cannon-tiers of all the fleets on Lake Ontario. 

" They talk, aunt," said he, " of making 
war support war. We must make war destroy 
war, instead ! " 

After six nights Lemuel strode to the house 
of John Dennis, master-builder, with a great 
roll of lined paper under his arm. 

' Another brig ? " asked the master pleas- 
antly. ' I fear the Children of Peace will 
be losing a promising infant. King George, 
however, will be the richer." 

" Nay, Mr. Dennis, 'tis not another brig," 
answered Lemuel unrolling his scroll. " Thee 

269 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

knows, as I know, how this strife drags on — 
each of us building a new ship a little larger 
than our last, and finding, when we come to 
launch, that our new ship must not leave the 
harbour because the enemy have a bigger one 
waiting outside. And so the war grinds on. 
Its grist is human beings stamped with the 
likeness of beasts and crawling things ! " 

" Thanks, Dreamer-boy," laughed honest 
John Dennis, "but whatever you may think 
of the rest of us, remember you are a product 
of the war-mill yourself. D'ye think, lad, 
you could come here to your boss, head thrown 
back, chest out, and your blue eyes blazing, 
like one of the Old Testament prophets, if 
war hadn't inspired you ? War is a melting 
pot, lad. The scum and dross may seethe 
and simmer on the surface, but the gold and 
the steel of strong, true men like you is found 
at the bottom ! " 

' Ay, but the price ! ' urged Lemuel. 
' Wounds, and widows' tears and the hunger 
of babes, the destruction of men's bodies, the 
ruin of their souls ! No, this war, all war, must 
end. And here is how. We must build a ship so 
big that opposition to her will be useless, un- 
thinkable — a ship able to blockade and batter 
the entire fleet of the enemy ; and here she is ! ' 
John Dennis stared as though thunder- 

270 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

struck ; not at the draught of the battleship 
Lemuel unfolded, but at Lemuel himself. 
: Young man," said he, slowly, " if I did 
not know you were true I would kill you with 
my own hands. You have uncovered by 
chance the deepest design of His Majesty's 
government. Such a ship as you describe, 
such a ship as you have drawn, has already 
been determined on. I thought myself the 
only man who knew, except Sir James Yeo ! " 

" Praise Jehovah ! " exclaimed Lemuel, 
blithely rolling up his plans. He felt not the 
slightest twinge of disappointment at being 
forestalled in a great idea. " Praise Jehovah ! " 
he repeated. " Sir James need have no fear 
of the knowledge of this design passing my 
lips." And for the second time in seven days 
the dreamer tore up and crumpled his heart's 
best gift to the world. 

All that winter the axe and the saw rang 
in the surrounding forests, and sledges toiled 
through the deep snows with enormous logs 
of elm, oak, cedar and pine. The Royal 
dockyard was piled high with shorn trunks 
of forest monarchs. Day and night the forges 
roared, night and day the sailmakers plied the 
palm-and-needle, the riggers knotted and 
spliced. The entire original squadron was 
renamed and regunned. 

271 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

On the launching ways beside the yellow 
" Stone Frigate " two new ships speedily 
took shape. They were larger than anything 
yet attempted — one twelve hundred, one 
fourteen hundred, tons ; twice as large as the 
old Royal George or the Wolfe, which had in 
turn borne the commodore's pennant ; but 
Lemuel's blue eyes twinkled quietly when 
his comrades expatiated upon them. He 
knew, and the master builder knew, why the 
thickest oak logs were set aside, and why twice 
as many keel-blocks as the whole yard had 
hitherto boasted were prepared. 

With February came the first loosening of 
the winter's grip. In the pools of snow-water 
in the shipyard they began to line up the keel- 
blocks, and the ship-carpenters gaped at the 
result. " Are we to build two ships on one 
keel ? " they asked. And one more deserter 
slipped way across the rotting ice at the foot of 
Lake Ontario, and told Chauncey, the Ameri- 
can Commodore at Sackett's Harbour : ' They 
have two ships well under way, one to carry 
forty-two guns and one for fifty-eight ; but 
what the third keel they've laid is for, the 
Lord only knows. The keel blocks stretch 
a hundred and ninety feet already, and the 
space kept clear around them is wider than 
any city street ! " 

272 



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THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

Chauncey pondered and sent for Henry 
Eckford — he who afterwards built a navy for 
the Sultan of Turkey. 

" How many keels have you just laid, 
Master Eckford ? " asked the Commodore. 

" Three," answered Eckford, " two for 
brigs of twenty-two guns, and one for a 
fifty-gun ship." 

" Can we add to the guns ? " 

" Not of the brigs," said the builder slowly, 
" their scantling won't take more. But may- 
be the ship would stand another dozen." 

" Then sixty-two guns let her be," said 
Chauncey, " and speed your men night and 
day. We will have something rare to meet 
this year — something rare, I know not what." 

"I'll launch the brigs in forty days from the 
cutting of the keel timbers," promised Eck- 
ford, " and the ship will be afloat within a 
month of them." And he kept his word, 
wonderful as was the promise. 

But over on the Canadian side of the lake, 
in the Royal dockyard in Kingston, a mightier 
miracle was in progress. When the kiss of 
April banished the ice from Navy Bay the two 
new frigates, Prince Regent and Princess 
Charlotte, plunged into their intended element. 
Swiftly their lofty spars rose above their new- 
caulked decks, and gleaming wings of canvas 

273 T 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

greeted the first airs of May. A squadron 
sailed, and pocketed Chauncey and his new 
brigs in Sackett's for a while, and stormed 
Oswego, and came back laden with pork and 
powder, cannon and gear intended for Chaun- 
cey's sixty-two gun ship Superior and for a 
sister frigate, the Mohawk, which the magician 
Eckford had also undertaken. Prize-schooners 
trailed in the wake of the home-comers. 
The joy-bells rang and money clinked and 
tavern lights blazed all night long, and the 
groans of the wounded and weeping of widows 
and orphans were forgotten of all men — save 
Lemuel. 

There followed a time too when straggling 
survivors crept in to tell of the capture of the 
gun-boats and ships' cutters which had 
attempted to waylay and destroy the flotilla 
ferrying the Superior's second outfit from 
Oswego to Sackett's; still later the Superior 
herself and the Mohawk, and the new brigs, 
Jones and Jefferson, and all the vessels of the 
older American fleet, hovered off Kingston 
Harbour, with their fever-smitten Commodore 
aboard, sending challenges from his sick berth 
to the fuming Sir James Yeo ; challenges 
which Sir James dared not in reason accept. 

Now up, now down, swung the beam of the 
scale. British gun-galleys were captured on 

274 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

the St. Lawrence river. American scout-boats 
were taken among the Thousand Islands. 
Word came of the surprise of the Ohio and 
Somers in the Niagara river, of the Tigress 
and Scorpion at the Detour ; but through 
triumph and tribulation Lem the Dreamer 
swung his spike-maul in the Kingston dock- 
yard with a quiet cheerfulness which might 
have been mistaken for thoughtless good- 
humour were it not for the fire which burned 
in the eyes of blue. 

Such a work as he toiled on fresh water has 
seldom seen. A hundred and ninety feet, 
as the deserter had said, stretched a line 
of keel-blocks. Upon them were laid and 
scarphed the squared trunks of three of the 
tallest white oaks in Upper Canada. From 
this backbone grew ribs of timber, each a foot 
square. At either end sprang stem-post and 
stern-post forty feet high, each a whole tree 
in the forest the winter before. The gigantic 
skeleton was clothed with layers of planking 
within and without, much of it fifty foot 
" flitches " of oak, six inches thick and a foot 
wide. The pit-sawyers sawed the oak-trunks 
from roots to branches, and the curves and 
bends of the tree were shown in the planks. 
These again were cunningly fitted to the curves 
of the ship's swelling sides. 

275 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Only sixty-foot logs were long enough to 
furnish the scores and scores of deck-beams 
which tied her together athwartships. She 
had two complete gun-decks, running from 
stem to stern, and above these rose her quarter- 
deck, poop, and top-gallant forecastle. An 
army of joiners toiled on her cabins and living- 
quarters ; for she was to be the floating home 
of a thousand fighting men. A whole grove 
of stately pines disappeared to provide her 
three lower masts, their topmasts, the mighty 
bowsprit, the long spanker-boom and gaff. 
Another grove vanished to supply her top- 
gallant masts and royals, and her yards 
and booms. Her mainyard alone used all the 
timber of a hundred-foot tree. 

Ever about the dockyard-wharves hovered 
a fleet of small craft — flat-bottomed boats 
which could be tracked up the rapids of the 
St. Lawrence, round-bottomed coasters which 
could dodge the prowling American fleet ; 
batteaux, scows, " Durham-boats," schooners, 
even canoes. Everything British which could 
navigate the river came loaded with cannon 
and cordage, canvas and chains, e3 r e-bolts 
and anchors, oakum and tallow, powder and 
lead. When the river was blockaded the 
wilderness roads had to serve. But steadily, 
surely, month after month, was gathered 

276 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

together the complete equipment of the 
mightiest warship fresh water ever floated. 

" I hear she has ninety guns, none smaller 
than thirty-two-pounders," one spy told 
Chauncey. 

" She is pierced for a hundred and two guns, 
averred another, " and they say she can carry 
a hundred and twelve on her calculated draught 
of twenty-seven feet ! 

" Twenty-seven feet ! " exclaimed Eckford. 
" How many harbours on this lake can she 
enter, then ? 

" She won't have to enter," answered 
Chauncey bitterly. " She can blow us all to 
Kingdom Come while she lies outside." 

" Then," said the practical Eckford. "I'd 
blow her to Kingdom Come first ! " 

Happiest of all the hundreds labouring on 
this terrific engine of destruction was Lem the 
Dreamer, Brother Lemuel of the Children of 
Peace. Every spike he drove was to him 
not an item in the doom of fellow men serving 
the " Stars and Stripes," but a nail in the 
coffin of the monster — War. When the great 
planks came smoking hot from the steam- 
box, and the mighty clamps gripped them to 
their places along the ribs, Lemuel felt like 
shouting " Praise Jehovah ! " Every hammer- 
stroke which tightened the wedges over- 

277 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

coming the rebellious oak was to him a 
" Hallelujah ! " The clink-clink-clink of the 
apple-tree mallets on the caulking irons was 
to him the music of angels beating on the 
crystal spheres. The grinning cannon, piled 
in heaps about the yard, seemed to open their 
mouths only to say. " There shall be no more 
war ! " He felt as though he were treading 
on air. And he did the work of ten men with- 
out tiring. 

" A skulker, eh ? " Sir James Yeo had 
asked when the fleet came back with the spoil 
of Oswego, and Lemuel's serene contentment 
was uninterrupted by a single huzza. " Per- 
chance the ' cat ' would liven him ! " 

" You will think differently of him, Sir 
James," said John Dennis. 

" You were right," said Sir James a month 
later, when things were very black and strag- 
glers were coming in with evil tidings. " Your 
Son-of- Peace, or whatever you call him, 
puts spirit into his fellows by smiling through 
dirty weather. Give him more pay, and 
place him in charge of a few of the faint- 
hearted." 

Still later Sir James said : " Make the Peace- 
pusher foreman of the hardest gang you have 
to handle. It will be to the profit of the 
Dreamer and of his Majesty's Government. 

278 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

That man works so hard and so merrily he 
will make an end of all hanging back." 

" He would give his life," said John Dennis, 
" to see the new ship afloat. He believes 
she will end the war." 

" For his sake," answered Sir James with 
his rare smile, " I hope you are a worse pro- 
phet than he." 

More pay and the approval of the mighty 
left Lemuel j ust as they found him — abstracted , 
eager, smiling quietly from blue eyes which 
seemed to look past what they saw. The 
vision of agony which had made their gaze 
all light and no heat had faded : rather, it was 
displaced by a newer vision of a noble ship, 
the mightiest yet planned in the new world ; 
a vision swiftly shaping into reality grander 
even than fancy had pictured. The ship on the 
stocks was to Lemuel's naive mind infinitely 
more glorious than the ship he had put on 
paper. He cherished no illusions as to the 
superiority of his own ideas. A noble name 
had been chosen for her — St. Lawrence, 
commemorating the river which began its 
seaward journey opposite her birthplace. 

Soft September's moon began to wane. 
The glorious news from Mackinac had been 
followed by the terrible tidings of the Battle 
of Lake Champlain. If that defeat were to 

279 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

be retrieved at all the St. Lawrence must be 
launched forthwith and sweep Lake Ontario ; 
for the foe had heard enough about her to 
attempt to out-build even her during the 
coming winter. So day and night, as in the 
times ere the fitting out of the spring fleet, 
the whole Royal dockyard rang with the labour 
of caulker, carpenter, armourer and artizan. 
Boarding-pikes were hammered out, gun- 
carriages hewn, spars shaped, and sails cut, 
even by torchlight. And night and day, 
tireless, alert, a blue-eyed giant swung a spike- 
maul and cheered on his flagging fellow- 
workers in a fashion which fairly shocked the 
rough-hewn ship-yard folk by its mildness. 

" She must be afloat D3' the twenty-first," 
Sir James had said. 

" Then I'll have Lem the Dreamer promise 
it," wisely concluded the master-builder. 
And he gained Lemuel's pledge. 

There was much to be done when the 
twenty-first dawned. But Lemuel and the 
whole dock-yard staff toiled like Trojans. All 
the soap-fat in the countryside, all the tallow, 
all the grease, was lavished on the launching 
ways. Late in the afternoon it was announced 
that everything was in readiness. Towering 
over the water like some great timber block- 
house of many embrasures and many stories, 

280 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

the ship stood on the harbour-shore, with the 
hundred ports of her several decks all closed. 
On a staging built up by the bow were Sir 
James Yeo and the official party, with the 
traditional bottle of wine. Around the yard, 
at a respectful distance, were ranged all the 
inhabitants of Kingston. 

" Now, lads," called the blue-eyed giant, 
" with a will ! " 

A swift chorus of hammer-strokes on wedges 
answered him. The stern rose slightly and 
a restraining hawser became taut as a harp- 
string. 

" Cut ! ' called the giant, and a stroke of 
a ship-axe severed the hemp. The ship 
began, almost imperceptibly, to glide forward, 
with a hollow sound, between a creak and a 
rumble. 

Lemuel dropped to his knees. To pray ? 
Rather, to work. A swift glance along the 
launching ways showed him why the ship 
did not gather speed. A workman had failed 
to knock one of the bow-wedges completely 
clear. That insignificant splinter of oak 
might block the ship or hurl her on her side 
as she gained momentum. At the best the 
wedge spelt delay ; and the worst, disaster. 
The fall of a ship upon the land is as perilous 
as the fall of a house into the water. 

281 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

Crouching, Lemuel ran along under the 
slowly travelling bilge of the ship, maul in 
hand. As he passed the staging he heard the 
words. ' St Lawrence ! " the crash of glass, 
the hurrah of a few voices, taken up by the 
loud cheers of many. Three swift strokes 
of his maul, and the wedge flew into match- 
wood. The great body above him gathered 
motion so quickly he was forced to drop 
panting beside the launching ways. The 
hollow creaking overhead turned into a rum- 
bling roar — and then he saw the stern of the 
ship, and a forty-foot burst of dazzling spray 
springing heavenward from her cleaving bows. 
The people cheered and cheered. " Good 
launch ! Good luck ! " each man shouted to 
his neighbour. And the displaced water 
came rushing back to the shore. 

Lem the Dreamer had not risen from his 
knees when the return wave burst on the 
beach. He was hot with his run and the 
tremendous strokes which none had seen. 
The prospect of a drenching was far from 
disagreeable. The spray leapt up and fell on 
him ; it even spattered the launching stage. 
The official party laughed. But the Dreamer 
stayed on his knees by the shore. 

Try that as a cure for a wetting ! " called 
Sir James Yeo as he hurried past the crouched 

282 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

figure. They were warping the St. Lawrence 
up under the great sheer-legs, where her 
mainmast hung ready for stepping. But the 
chink of the guineas failed to attract the 
Dreamer's attention. Sir James stooped, not 
over the gold but over the man. 

The blue eyes were wide open, staring 
towards the noble ship, riding easily on the 
last of the waves she had created. 

" Her shotted guns shall never speak," 
the Dreamer murmured. " Without a word 
she ends the strife. And there shall be no 
more war ! " 

With that he died. 

" Apoplexy," the surgeon said. " The man 
appears to have been somewhat abnormal, 
physically and mentally. Over-wrought by 
mental excitement and prolonged physical 
exertion. The shock of cold water in his 
overheated state was a contributing factor." 

There came to Chauncey a messenger who 
said : " The St. Lawrence is afloat and rigged 
and her hundred guns are being slung aboard!" 
And the harassed Commodore, fighting fever, 
Sir James Yeo, and personal enemies all at 
once, recalled his blockading brigs from far 
and near and concentrated all his ships around 
the ancient base, Sackett's Harbour. 

" Three thousand tons that battleship 

28? 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

measures," he told Eckford. ' Big enough 
to swallow our Superior and Mohawk at one 
gulp without bulging her sides. We should 
have taken your advice and blown her to 
Kingdom Come before she got afloat." 

" Never too late to try," responded the 
builder, " and as the British tried to strew 
powder-kegs under the Superior, why not try 
a new torpedo plan on the St. Lawrence ? " 

By the light of a waning moon a large gig 
crept stealthily from Sackett's Harbour. She 
was rowed by a picked crew of seamen. A 
daring midshipman named McGowan was in 
charge. Beside him crouched a high cheek- 
boned young man of Dutch-Irish parentage 
who had already become famous in the war. 
He had been a settler in the Bay of Quinte 
district at Bath, above Kingston, but with 
the outbreak of hostilities he made common 
cause with the Americans, and, gathering 
together a band of British-haters on Amherst 
Island, made an escape with them from Canada 
and landed at Sackett's Harbour. He was 
quick, resourceful, and loyal to any enemy of 
Great Britain. From his knowledge of the 
St. Lawrence river he was an invaluable guide 
in the man}- forays made from Ogdensburgh. 
His nickname, ' Pirate Bill Johnston," was 
given in jest, but was confirmed in deadly 

284 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

earnest years later when, with a gang of 
helpers disguised as red Indians, he seized 
and burned the British mail steamer Sir 
Robert Peel among the Thousand Islands. 
This was during the Canadian rebellion. 
For two years the pirate was hunted among 
his islands, with a price set on his head by 
both governments, British and American. 
The light skiff of his devoted daughter saved 
him time and again from starvation and 
capture, ere at last a hard-won pardon 
came. 

The gig which stole from Sackett's carried 
one other passenger, inanimate, but more to be 
dreaded than the most valiant midshipman 
or most desperate pirate. It was a fore- 
runner of the modern torpedo. A large copper 
cylinder contained a quantity of gunpowder 
and a fuse attached to clockwork, released by 
a spring. The cylinder was buo3'ed with 
balks of wood, so that it could float almost 
submerged ; and a light tough line was 
attached to it and to a stout harpoon. The 
latter had to be fired from a heavy blunderbuss 
installed in the sternsheets of the gig. 

" Remember," McGowan repeated, " first 
steer us into a position where the wind or the 
current runs from us to the ship. Then 
stand by the clockwork spring while I fire 

285 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

the harpoon. If it fastens, release the spring, 
throw the whole thing overboard, and lie 
flat in the bottom of the boat if you can't 
lend a hand to the rowers. They'll have to 
pull away for dear life. Our harpoon-gun 
will wake the sentries, and next minute the 
sentries and the whole ship will go aloft 
with noise enough to wake the dead ! ' 

" A hellish business," said the pirate. " I 
hate it." Despite his name and adventures 
he never took a life. 

" War's war," was the midshipman's 
answering philosohpy. 

Daylight found the gig skirting the foot of 
the lake. To avoid notice she turned east and 
lurked among the islands. At dusk they 
rowed again, and very early in the blackness 
of the autumn morning after moonset, they 
crept into Kingston's Navy Bay. 

The port was silent as a city of the dead. 
The " Stone Frigate's " walls loomed against 
the velvet darkness like mountain ramparts on 
the edge of the world. They dipped their 
oars softly and pulled into the cove with 
beating hearts, expecting every second a 
sentry's hail and a sheet of flame from level- 
led muskets. Beyond the mountain ram- 
parts straight, black lines speared heaven- 
ward. The St. Lawrence's spars ? They rowed 

286 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

closer. No, it was only the sheer-legs of the 
dockyard. 

Navy Bay was empty. 

The searching gig-crew circled round from 
shore to shore. Some small hulks at moorings 
at the inner end ; some ships in frame on 
the stocks — these they slowly disentangled 
from the gloom ; but warrleet there was 
none. 

" Out, and back to the islands ere the day 
breaks," whispered the midshipman. 

" Why not try your torpedo on one of the 
hulks ? " muttered the pirate. 

" Risk holes in our heads or Dartmoor 
prison to blow up a condemned hooker ? " 
snorted the officer. " Have sense. Per- 
chance the light will show us the St. 
Lawrence." 

The light did. In the shelter of a creek 
behind Garden Island, opposite Kingston, 
the gig lay, when the dawn burst in full 
glory ; over autumn woods flaming with 
scarlet sumach and maple ; through glades 
where the fresh-cut stumps showed what 
ruin had been wrought among the oak and 
elm, cedar and pine ; and out upon the glad 
blue waters of the broad Lower Gap leading 
to Lake Ontario. Down the wide passage 
to the open lake moved with the stately 

287 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

tread of a new-crowned monarch, unhasting 
and unhesitating, the ship they sought. 
The sunrise flame winked and burned back 
from cabin window and carving, from polished 
brazen cannon-lip and fresh-scraped spar. 
From truck to deck she was clothed in the 
white raiment of new sail-cloth. From 
her loftiest masthead floated the Commodore's 
pennant, from her gaff-end the hated flag 
of England. Before her, dwarfed by the 
distance and the contrast with the newest 
ship, floated the largest square-riggers of 
preceding seasons, flying dutiful answering 
pennants to the St. Lawrence's signals. Steadily, 
rapidly, with no apparent effort at motion, 
the squadron drew away from the watchers. 
For all their quietness they were travelling 
over the smooth water at a speed no oars 
could match. 

" Bound up the lake for Niagara," ground 
out McGowan between his teeth. " Oh, if 
we had been twenty-four hours earlier. The 
war — the war is at an end ! ' ' 

" You did your best, lad," said Chauncey, 
when the disappointed gig returned. " But 
you're right. The war on Lake Ontario is 
ended until we can match that marvel. And 
that will not be till next spring at the earliest!" 
For all the remainder of that year, while the 

288 




- 1) 
<■ o 

Ut 

- - - 



- a 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

lake was free from ice, the British fleet winged 
its way up and down, from Burlington Bay 
to Garden Island, without let or hindrance. 
The ships carried troops and stores with the 
regularity of package freighters. Huddled 
under the menace of those hundred silent 
guns under one broad pennant the fleet of the 
foe lay cooped in Sackett's Harbour, until 
the fetters of the winter made their imprison- 
ment assured till spring. 

The magician Eckford wove his mightiest 
spell. The forests of the south shore of the 
lake began to vanish as had the forests of 
the north shore the preceding winter. Sack- 
ett's Harbour too has its Navy Bay, and on 
the stony point of the spit which shelters it 
the December snows fell on the keel-blocks 
of a ship which was to out-thunder the still 
silent St. Lawrence. One hundred and eighty- 
seven feet was her keel, thirty feet her depth of 
hold, three thousand two hundred tons her 
burthen, and one hundred and twenty was 
the number of guns her decks would bear. 
Further inland from the lake, on the shores 
of Black River Bay, was laid another keel 
of similar size, for guns as numerous, and a 
ship as great. Through storm and shine, 
by torchlight and by day, soldiers and sailors 
toiled continuously to outbuild that fleet 

289 u 



THE EIGHTEEN-TWELVERS 

which floated on one keel amid the ice sheets 
of Kingston Harbour. 

Came Christmas Eve, 1814. In the homes 
of Kingston candles gleamed an answer to 
the lanterns of the fleet. In Navy Bay the 
tall-sparred hulls snuggled as for warmth. 
Stripped of their sails and running rigging 
they looked, amid the sifting snowflakes, like 
some leafless forest. High above all others 
towered the mighty masts of the St. Lawrence. 
Sentries paced her decks and from their 
elevation watched the lesser hulls lying around 
her. 

In the shelter of the break of the quarter- 
deck the relief watch yarned away the time 
ere it should be their turn to face the wintry 
night. 

" What was it Lem the Dreamer said at 
the la'nch, afore he died ? " asked a rawboned 
marine. " Didn't he say this ship'd never 
fire a broadside ? " 

" He said, ' Her shotted guns shall never 
speak. Without a word she ends the strife. 
And there shall be no more war ! ' answered 
a dour Scots salt, with all the fervour of the 
Shorter Catechism. " Why ? " 

" Mebbe it's the time o' the year," said 
the marine humbly. " Peace-on-earth you 
know, and all that ; and mebbe's it's just 

290 




1 


t 


-^ 


2 


L 




- 




X 


-* 










r. 


rt 


C 




-i 


r 


:. 


— 



THE SILENT ST. LAWRENCE 

bein' lonesome. We both was in Sir 
James's guard, that day o' the la'nch, and I 
helped pick Lem up, like you did. And 
somehow I got to thinkin' how this ship's 
never had to fire a shot yet, and then about 
him and his blue eyes. Wonder if he was a 
prophet ? " 

" He was a good man," said the Scot 
soberly. 

" Ding-ding ! Ding-ding ! Ding-ding ! 
Ding-ding ! " struck the ship's bell. 

"'Eight bells,' and sentry relief!" com- 
mented the marine. " Into the snow along 
with me, and a Merry Christmas to ye, 
Glengarry — that is, if you Scotch keep 
Christmas ! " 

They turned out into the storm-swept night. 
And far away in the city of Ghent, across 
the wintry Atlantic, the Christmas chimes 
were ringing the message eighteen centuries 
old : ' Peace on earth, goodwill toward men." 
To it could be added, " And in America, 
peace, and goodwill between Great Britain 
and the United States ! " For certain com- 
missioners, who had argued, and coaxed, and 
menaced, and pleaded for ten months in the 
neutral city of the Netherlands, had set 
the seals of two nations to a writing ; the 
war was ended — forever. And although the 

291 



THE EIGHTEEX-TWELVERS 

imaginative marine knew nought of this as 
he traced his sentry-track along the snowy 
deck, he had a strange feeling that the great 
ship was happy and Lem the Dreamer was at 
peace. 



THE END 



^ 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 

BY ARTHUR H. ADAMS. 

GALAHAD JONES. A Tragic Farce. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

With 16 full-page Illustrations by Norman Lindsay. 

V Galahad Jones is a middle-aged bank clerk, with a family One day on 
his way home, a letter falls to his feet from the balcony of a house he i<= passing 
It is addressed " To You," and on reading it he discovers that he is requested 
to meet the writer in the garden of the house at 10 o'clock that night. In a spirit 
of knight-errantry, he decides to do so. and learns that the writer-a young girl- 
is kept practically in prison by her father, because of her affection for a man of 
whom he does not approve. The chivalry of Galahad Jones plunges him into 
many difficulties, and leads to some very awkward and extremely amusing situations 

A TOUCH OF FANTASY . Crown Svo. 6/- 

A Romance For Those who are Lucky Enough to Wear Glasses. 
Daily Graphic-" A romance full of tenderness and charm, and written with 
an artist s love of words for their own sake. Mr. Adams has delicacy of observation 
and insight. »»«a»uwi 

Pall Mall Gazette-" Mr. Adams seems likely to enhance his reputation with 
the new novel Mr. Adams writes well, and his characters live, and the result 
is a book which is interesting and quite out of the common." 

BY CIRO ALYI. 

THE SAINTS PROGRESS: A Novel. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Translated from the Italian of Ciro Alvi by Mary Gibson. 

•..**."v. 9i f n , 0r . Ciro A . lvi ha3 written a long and most sympathetic novel dealing 
jntn the life of one of the noblest spirits of the Christian Church who was perhaps 
the most extraordinary man of his age. The somewhat dissolute early life of the 
founder of the tranciscan Order is deltly outlined, the young man's innate goodness 
of heart and kindly disposition being clearly apparent even in the midst of his 
ostentatious gaiety and sudden impulses. 

BY W. M. ARDAGH. 

THE MAGADA. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Pall Mall Gazette-" ' The Magada ' Is a store-house of rare and curious learn- 
ing . . it is a well-written and picturesque story of high adventure and deedn 
of derring-do. 

Obterter—" The book has admirably caught the spirit of romanoe." 

Daily Chronicle- "' The Magada' is a fine and finely told story and we 
congratulate Mr. Ardagh." 

THE KNIGHTLY YEARS. Crown Svo. 6/- 

•,* In "The Knightly Years" the author of "The Magada" takes us back 
once more to the Canary Islands in the days ol Isabella the Catholic. The tale 
deals with the aftermath of conquests, when " the 6rst use the islanders made of 
their newly-acquired moral code was to apply it to their rulers." The hero of the 
story is the body-servant of the profligate Governor of Gomera. whose love affairs 
become painfully involved with those of his master. In the course of his many 
adventures we come across Queen Isabella herself, the woman to whom every man 
was loyal save her own husband; and countless Spanish worthies, seamen soldiers 
governors and priest;-, all real men, the makers of Empire four hundred years ago' 
The book abounds in quaint sayings both of Spaniard and native, while the love- 
making of the simple young hero and his child-wife weaves a pretty thread of 
romance through the stirring tale ol adventure. 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 



BY ALLEN ARNOT. 

THE DEMPSEY DIAMONDS; A Novel. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

',• This is the story ot the secret transference ol a fortune; and the scene it 
laid mainly in two old houses in two Scottish villages, one on the east coast, one 
buried in midland woi-ds. The tale Is of the old slow days of twenty years ago 
before the tyranny of speed began, but it is swayed throughout and born* to its 
close by the same swift passions that sway th« stories of men and women to-day, 
and will sway them till the end ol time. 

BY H. F. PREYOST BATTERSBY. 

THE SILENCE OF MEN. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

%• Lynne is a girl who shows a strong liking for a change of surname. 
Indeed, it is not always certain by what name she has a right to be called. March, 
a young civilian of great promise, meets her on the boat going out to India, and 
offers her the hospitality of his house, which is kept by an unmarried sister. 
M-trch and Lynne become married— and secretly so at Lynne's express wish. After 
a brief time she bolts to England with Lord Rupert Dorrington, an A.D.C., and 
cables that she has married him. While on leave March comes across her at a 
fashionable ball in London. Meanwhile he has fallen in love with another girl, 
but Lynne declares that if lie marries her she will cry the true facts from ths 
housetops. 

By a cunning arrangement of circumstance the reader is made aware of ths 
fact that March's marriage has been all along invalid, which ot course puts a 
different complexion upoa Lynne's matrimonial position. 

Mr. Battersby handles the story in a very masterful way, and his descriptions 
of Indian scenery and social life In London show the quality of personal observation. 

THE LAST RESORT. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Obi <•> iit — " A really stirring novel— a novel of flesh and blood and character. 
of quiet everyday life, and of life at its most strenuous and heroic . . . admirable 
psychology ... a book to remember." 

BY GERARD BENDALL. 

THE ILLUSIONS OF MR. & MRS. BRESSINGHAM. 

A Novel. Crown Svo. 6/- 

" A delightful, farcical comedy cJ modern life . . . natural, spirited dialogue 
. . lively entertainment." 

THE PROGRESS OF MRS. CRIPPS-MIDDLEMORE. 

A Novel. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Pall Mall Gazette—" Mr. Gerard Bendall is to be congratulated on having 
written an extremely amusing novel in which the leading idea and the final 
reflection are sufficiently refreshing in these days of miscellaneous fiction." 

Ohterrer -" Mr. Gerard Bendall knows how to poke amiable tun at people. 
He writes in a leisurely way, and his book is full of talk— soms of it extremely 
good talk." 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
BY PAUL BERTRAM 

THE SHADOW OF POWER. Third Thousand. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Timts—" Few readers have taken up ' The Shadow of Power ' and come lace to 
face with Don Jaimie de Jorquera, will lay it down or reluse him a hearing until 
the book and his adventures cme to an end." 

Daily Mail—" This is a book that cuts deep into nature and experience. We 
commend it most heartily to discerning readers, and hope it may take its place 
with the best historical novels." 

THE FIFTH TRUMPET. A Novel. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Morning Poi ■" A remarkably strong book. . . . This is a book for those 
to read who like an historical novel that touches real issues, and even (or those 
who are on the look out for A NEW SENSATION." 

BY HORACE BLEACKLEY. 

A GENTLEMAN OF THE ROAD . Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Author of " Ladies Fair and Frail,'' etc. 

*.• As the title implies, this Is a very gallant novel: an eighteenth century 
story of abductions, lonely inns, highwaymen and hangmen. Two men are in love 
with Margaret Crofton: Colonel ThornJey, an old villain, and Dick Maynard, who 
is as youthful as he is virtuous. Thornley nearly succeeds in compelling Margaret 
to marry him, for he has in his possession a document sadly Incriminating to her 
father. Maynard settles Thornley, but himself in his turn is " up against it." He 
is arrested lor complicity in the highway thefts of a glad but graceless young 
ruffian. Both are sentenced to death, but a great effort is made to get them 
leprieved. It would be a pity to divulge the climax cunningly contrived by Mr. 
Bleackley. save to say that the book ends in a scene of breathless interest before 
the Tyburn gallows. 

BY EX-LIEUTENANT BILSE. 

LIFE IN A GARRISON TOWN . Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Also in Paper Cover i/- net. 
The suppressed German Novel. With a preface written by the 
author whilst in London, and an introduction by Arnold White. 

Truth— " The disgracelul exposures of the book wsrs expressly admitted to 
be true by the Minister of War in the Reichstag. What ths book will probably 
suggest to you is, that German militarism is cutting its own throat, and will one 
day be hoist with its own petard." 

BY WALTER BLOEM. 

THE IRON YEAR. A Novel Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Translated from the German by Stella Bloch. 

•«• This remarkable novel depicts in vivid word-painting the final struggle 
between France and Germany, in the year 1870. The advance of the German 
troops, the famous battle of Spicheren, the fearful cavalry encounter of Hcionville, 
the struggle and capitulation of Strassburg are all incidents in this wonderfully 
graphic narrative. A love-story runs through the book, telling of the fateful 
attraction of a French officer for a German girl. As may well be imagined, the 
pa*h of their lives is beset with many obstacles, but after great tribulations they 
are reunited under very pathetic circumstances. Another finely drawn character 
is that of a hypersensitive gifted young musician, transformed, during these times 
of stress, into a strong man of action. 

" The Iron Year " created an extraordinary sensation in Germany. So great 
was the demand for the book that twenty editions were exhausted. The German 
Emperor read it aloud to the members of the Royal Family circle during the 
Spring. 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
BY PETER BLUNDELL. 

THE FINGER OF MR. BLEE. A Novel. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

*»* The amusing adventures ol Harold B!ee, a youthful Eurasian, form the 
main theme of this original novel. Harold is brought into contact with the two 
rival iactions of the local British society, and perpetrates many works of mischief, 
to the discomfiture of the rich and pompous Mrs. Gladstone Mortimer and to the 
suppressed amu=eraent of her enemies. He is a most versatile boy, whose quaint 
quips and irresistible antics serve a very useful purpose, when he is instrumental in 
smoothing out the course of love for Harry McMucker, his employer's 60n. 

BY SHELLAND BRADLEY. 

ADVENTURES OF AN A.D.C. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Wentminster Gazette—" . . ■ makes better and more entertaining reading than 
nine out of every ten novels of the day. . . . Those who know nothing about 
Anglo-Indian social life will be as well entertained by this etory as those who 
know everything about it." 

Times—" Full of delightful humour." 
AN AMERICAN GIRL AT THE DURBAR. \ Novel. 

Crown 8vo. 6/- 

*,* A charming love story, containing a vivid and picturesque account of the 
Durbar. 

Daily Chronicle—" Here is a truly delightful work which shou'd prove of 
interest to a wide class of readers— a book for a dull day." 

BY EYELYN BRENTWOOD. 

HENRY KEMPTON. A Novel. Crown 8vo. 6 

•»• In his second novel, Evelyn Brentwood has again given us a vivid picture 
of soldier life, and has again chosen for his hero a very unconventional character. 
Cool and calculating, ambitious and heartless, Henry determines to climb the 
social ladder by every means in his power. Articled to a solicitor when the story 
opens, he is only waiting for an opportunity to follow his inclinations and enter 
the army, when an accidental meeting with a duke's daughter precipitates matters, 
and he immediately throws up ly of the law. Later, we follow his career 

as a soldier; see how he falls under the spell of one of his senior officers in the 
'24th Hussars; how he wins the V.C for the mere purpose of bringing his name 
into prominence; how he is invalided home and meets Lady Violet for the second 
time; and finally how he is taught, through his experience with a worthless woman. 
to estimate at its truo value the love of one who stands by him in the hour of 
his humiliation. 

HECTOR GRAEME. Third Thousand Crown 8vo. o/ 

•,* The outstanding feature of "Hector Graeme" i- the convincing picture it 
gives of military life In India and South Africa, v rif e who is thoroughly 

acquainted with it. II - Graeme is not the great soldier of fiction, u- 
depicted by novelists, but a rather unpopular officer in the English army who 
is given to strange fits of tu iess, during which he i • ctraordirjaiy 

physic powers. He is a man as ambitions as he i- unscrupulous, with the desire 
but no: the ability to beco: .>leon. The subject matter of the story is 

unusual and the al thoroughly convincing. 

nob excitement and straightforward pleasure. 
A remarkable exception to the usual boring novels al> 11 ITJ lire." 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 

BY JAMES BRYCE 

THE STORY OF A PLOUGH BOY. An Autobiography. 

Crown 8vo. 6/- 

*,• As will be seen from the title of its parts—" The Farm," " The Mansion," 
" The Cottage "—the characters whose passions and interests make the plot of this 
story are drawn from the households of the Labourer, the Farmer and the Squire; 
the book is therefore an attempt to present country life in all its important 
aspects. In this, again, it differs from all other novels of the soil in our own or 
perhaps in any language: its author writes not from book-knowledge or hearsay or 
even observation, but from experience. He has lived what he describes, and under 
the power of his realism readers will feel that they are not so much glancing 
over pTinted pages as mixing with living men and women. But the story has 
interest for others than the ordinary novel-reader. It appeals as strongly to the 
many earnest minds that are now concerned with the questions of Land and 
Industrial Reform. To such its very faithfulness to life will suggest answers 
startling, perhaps, but certainly arresting. 

BY WILLIAM CAINE. 

HOFFMANNS CHANCE. A Novel. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

*»* This is a realistic story of the stage which bears the obvious impress of 
truth. Michael Hoffman is a struggling musician of tremendous talent. He is 
introduced to Or<le, a very rich dillettante. They collaborate in a blend of comic 
opera and musical comedy. Their music is clever and tuneful, but the libretto, 
alas, brings thera to grief. There is plenty of feminine interest in the book and 
some clever sketches of " women who do things." 

Morning Post— " The most considerable piece of work Mr. Caine has yet given 
us. ' Hoffman's Chance ' would have been worth writing merely for the presenta- 
tion of Orde the Ass and Psyche the Cat— especially the actress, whose portraiture 
is one of the most vivid and effective presentations of cattiness that has ever come 
our way." 

BY DANIEL CHAUCER. 

THE SIMPLE LIFE, LIMITED. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

•,• This novel has a very decided quality of satire which is inspired by the 
conventioir ol the unconventional. Evidently Mr. Chaucer knows the Simple Life 
from the inside, and his reflections will both amuse and amaze those who know it 
only from casual allusions. Many well-known figures will be recognized, though not 
in all cases under their proper names, and, as in the case of Mr. Mullock's " New 
Republic." Society will be busy dotting the " i's " and crossing the " t's." 

THE NEW lir.MPTY DUMI'TY down Svo. 6/- 

Qlobe—" Brilliant entf I . . . there is an extraordinary feeling for 

plot and incident, and an irresistible sense of satiric humour." 

Pall Mull Gazetff—" The pseudonymous author of ' The Simple Life ' gives 
us in 'The New Humpty Dumpty ' a volume still more brilliant; so brilliant is 
it. wi»h raoh a rar.^-o of first-class experience, that there will be keen curiosity to 
know who has written these works." 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
BY MAUD CRUTTWELL. 

FIRE AND FROST. A Novel. Crown Svo. 6/- 

*»• Fire is an Egyptian Prince and Frost is an English girl living in Flore: <.e. 
The impetuous and passionate temperament of the Oriental is matched again6t 
the steadfast rational nature ol the heroine. The uncompromising desire of th« 
former is to make the English girl his wife, and the circumstances under which 
she is reluctantly brought to consent are original but entirely convincing. Thence- 
forth the struggle is on the woman's part, as she finds herself pitted against the 
fierce vacillating will of her husband, and the jealous intrigues of & mercenary 
little Florentine marchesa— a character brilliantly drawn— and her sate'.'.ites. The 
outcome of this battle of temperaments is deeply interesting. The natures of 
East and Wet in conflict have been employed as material for fiction already, 
but it can safely be said that never have the dramatic possibilities of the subject 
been treated with such judgment as in this novel. The author makes lull use 
of her power of characterization in conveying the action of the story to the reader 
with a force only to be found in the work of a really accomplished writer. 

BY SIDNEY DARK. 

THE MAX WHO WOULD NOT RF. KING. A Novel 

Crown 8vo. 6/— 

" It is only when a man dees things lor which he is not intended that his 
experiences become really interesting. For example, supposing that Sir Herbert 
Tree hud gone to the South Polar regions instead of Sir Ernest Shackleton, what 
a delightful book would have resulted! So with me. Although I cannot claim 
any moral for my story it may not be without amusement. The adventures of a 
square p*8 in a round hole are always delightful, except, perhaps, to the square 
peg. 

"So I start to relate the life of Fennimore Slavington, who had greatness 
thrust upon him much against bis will and much to the discomfort of himself and 
many others."— Extract from the Prologue. 

BY MARION FOX. 

THE BOUNTIFUL HOUR. A Novel. Crown Svo. 6/- 

Author ol "The Hand of the North." 

*,* This is the story of a girl's life in the final years of the eighteenth century, 
the background of the plot lying around Olney in the time of Cowper and Newton, 
with the oontrasti \cre of London In the days of the Prince Hegent. With 

all of these the heroine, Charlotte Hume, comes in contact. 

The shadow which is cast across the plot is the outcome of a promise, given 
by Howard T-uttrell in his younger days to a woman of easy reputation, of whom 
he 60on tired, but to whom he bad passed his word that whilst she lived he would 
never marry. In later life he meets Charlotte Hume, with whom, almost 
unconsciously, he falls in love. On awakening fully to the fact, and finding the 
other woman still living, he brings the solving of the problem to the girl herself. 
Luttrell is the last of a long line of men and women, who, whatever they may or 
may not have done, never broke their word. The way in which Charlotte cuts th« 
knot must be left to the patience of the reader to find out. 

The book does not pretend to being an historical novel, but a pottrayal ol 
certain aspects ol middle-class life some hundred or more years ago. 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
THE WORKS OF ANATOLE FRANCE, in English. 

Edited by Frederic Chapman. Demy 8vo. 6/- 

THE OPINIONS OF JEROME COIGXARD. A Translation by 
Mrs. Wilfrid Jackson. 

ON LIFE AND LETTERS. A Translation by A. \V. Evans. 
Vols. 2, 3 & 4. 

THE GODS ARE ATHIRST. A Translation by Alfred Allinson. 

Already Published. 

MY FRIENDS BOOK. A Translation by J. Lewis May. 

JOCASTA AND THE FAMISHED CAT. A Translation by 
Mrs. Farley. 

THE ASPERATIOXS OF JEAN SERVIEN. A Translation by 
Alfred Allinson. 

AT THE SIGN OF THE REINE PEDAUQUE. A Translation 
by Mrs. Wilfrid Jackson. 

ON LIFE AND LETTERS. Vol. 1. 

THE Rl.D LILY. A Translation by Winifred Stephens. 

MOTHER OF PEARL . A Translation by the Editor. 

THE CRIME OF SYLVESTRE BONNARD. A Translation by 
Lafcadio Hearn. 

THE GARDEN OF EPICURUS. A Translation by Alfred 
Allinson. 

THE WELL OF ST. CLARE . A Translation by Alfred Allinson. 

BALTHASAR. A Translation by Mrs. John Lane. 

THAIS. A Translation by Robert B. Douglas. 

7 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 

THE WORKS OF ANATOLE FRANCE, in English— continued. 
THE WHITE STONE. A Translation by C. E. Roche. 

PENGUIN ISLAND. A Translation by A. W. Evans. 

THE MERRIE TALES OF JACQUES TOURNEBROCHE. 

A Translation by Alfred Allinsox. 
THE ELM TREE ON THE MALL. A Translation by M. P. 

WlLLCOCKS. 

THE WICKER-WORK WOMAN. A Translation by M. P. 
W 7 illcocks. 

BY JOHN GORE. 

THE BARMECIDES FEAST. Crown Svo. 3/6 net 

With Illustrations by Arthur Penn. 
*,* A book which will delight lovers ol humour. 
Daily News and Leader-" A book which MR. BALFOUR WOULD ENJOY." 

BY A. R. GORING-THOMAS. 

MRS. GRAMERCY PARK. Crown Svo. 6/- 

World— " In the language o! the heroine hersell, this, her story, is delightfully 

lit and cute.' " 
Obnerver—" Fresh and amusing." 

THE LASS WITH THE DELICATE AIR. Crown Svo. 6/- 

*»• In his new novel Mr. Goring-Thomas relates the history ol a young girl 
who-i- beautiful lace is a mask that allures. Round the history of "The Lass with 
the Delicate Air" is woven the story of the Hicks family. Mrs. Hicks keeps * 
lodging house in Chelsea, and has theatric*! ambitions. The author has keen 
powers of observation and a faculty of "getting inside a woman's mind" and the 
witty dialogue that was so commented upon in " Mrs. Gramercy-Park " is 
auain seen in the new work. The scene ol the book is laid partly in London and 
partly in Paris. 

WAY WARD FEET. Crown Svo. 6/- 

*,♦ This book is a departure on the part of Mr. Goring-Thomas, and is a 
brilliant piece ol work. The scene of the book alternates between St. Wulphy- 
turmer a mediaeval fortified town in the Pas-de-Calais, and Paris. The two 
ines Toinetta Moreau and Joan Dombray, both come from St. Wulphy and 
i go to Paris. Their histories contrive a sharp contrast: one being by character 
sweet, yielding and aHectionate, while the other is combative, rebellious and 
intellectual. Tin r drawing, as in Mr. (^ring-Thomas' other books, is 

notably clear and interesting. His already celebrated wit, his original humour, 
■*nd insight into character again illuminate his latest book. The history of Joan 
1 mbray, especially, is a strong, original, and striking piece of work. 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
BY HENRY HARLAND. 

THE CARDINAL'S SNUFF BOX. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Ulustrated by G. C. Wilmhurst. 165th. Thousand. 

Academy—" The drawings are all excellent in style and really illustrative ol 
the tale." 

Saturday Revieic—" Wholly delightful." 
Pall Mull Gazette—" Dainty and delicious." 
Times— " A book among a thousand." 
Spectatot — " A charming romance." 

MY FRIEXD PROSPERO . Crown 8vo. Third Edition. 6/- 

Tim.ee—" There is no denying the charm of the woTk, the delicacy and 
fragrancy of the 6tyle, the sunny play of the dialogue, the vivacity of the wit, and 
the graceful flight of the fancy." 

World— " The reading of it is a pleasure rare and unalloyed." 

THE LADY PARAMOUNT. Crown Svo. 55th Thousand. 6/- 

Times — " A fantastic, delightful love-idyll." 

Spectator—" A roseate romance without a crumpled rose leaf." 

Daily Mail—" Charming, dainty, delightful." 

COMEDIES AND ERRORS. Crown Svo. Third Edition. 6/- 

Mr. Henry James, in Fortnightly Review—" Mr. Harland has clearly thought 
out a form. . . . He has mastered a method and learned how to paint. . . . His 
art is all alive with felicities and delicacies." 

GREY ROSES. Crown 8vo. Fourth Edition, 3/6 net 

Daily Telegraph— ■" ' Grey Roses' are entitled to rank among the choicest 
flowers of the realms of romance." 

Spectator—" Really delightful. ' Castles near Spain ' is as near perfection as it 
could well be." 

Daily Chronicle— ■" Charming stories, simple, full of freshness." 

MADEMOISELLE MISS . Crown 8vo. Third Edition. 3/6 

Speaker—" All through the book we are pleased and entertained." 
Bookman—" An interesting collection ol early work. In it may be noted the 
undoubted delicacy and strength of Mr. Harland's manner." 

BY CROSBY HEATH. 

HENRIETTA TAKING NOTE. c Crown Svo. 6/- 

•»• Henrietta is the eleven year old daughter of a dramatic critic, who. with 
her delightful younger brother, Cyrus, are worthy of a place beside " Helen's 
Babies" or "Elizabeth's Children." Tbey cause the "Olympians" many anxious 
and anguished moments, yet their pranks are forgiven because of the endearing 
charm of their generous natures. Miss Heath writes ol children with the skill that 
eomee of a thorough understanding of the child mind. 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
BY BERTAL HEENEY. 

PICKANOCK : A Tale of Settlement Days in Olden Canada. 

Crown Svo. 6/- 

BY MURIEL HINE. 

APRIL PAXHASARD. A Novel. Crown Svo. 6/- 

*»* Lady Essendine is reluctantly compelled to divorce her unfaithful hu»band, 
who has developed into a dipsomaniac. She is naturally distressed by the scandal 
her action carries, and flies to Coddle-in-the-DaJe, where she hopes to hide her 
identity under the name of April Panhasard— a name chosen casually from the 
titles of three novels at a railway station bookstall, " Young April," " Peter Pan," 
" The Hazard of the Die." In the quiet village she moves a sweet and gracious 
figure, serenely indifferent to the curiosity of those who try to penetrate the 
mystery that surrounds her. Only Boris Majendie, who poses as her cousin, is 
in her confidence. Her quiet is speedily disturbed. A young American, to whom 
she is strangely drawn, makes her a proposal of marriage. Boris runs more than 
a little wild, although he leaves her his larger devotion. Finally her divorced 
husbai.d turns up, and she is left in an intensely compromising situation, for the 
necessary six months have not yet elapsed to "make the decree absolute. How she 
frees herself from this curious tangle must be left for the reader to find out. 

The book is alive with incident, but it has the rare quality of restraint, which 
prevents it from ever merging into the melodramatic, and the characters are all 
drawn with rare artistic skill. 

HALF IX EARNEST. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

*,* Derrick Kilmarney, the secretary of a famous politician, is a young man 
with the disposition to take the best that life offers him, and shirk the respoa- 
aibili ties. He falls in love with a girl, but shudders nt the idea of the bondage ot 
marriage. His love is emancipated, unfettered. He is ambitious, politically, 
allows himself to become entangled with his chief's wife, and is too indolent to 
break with her even in justice to the girl he loves. Eventually there comes a 
time when all the threads have to be gathered together, when love has to be 
weighed with ambition, and in Kilmarney's case the denounement is unexpected 
and startling. 

EARTH. Second Edition. Crown Svo. 6/- 

*.* Muriel Hine's previous novel " Half in Earnest " achieved a considerable 

Earth " seems likely to achieve a greater. The story deals with the 

awakening of a pure young girl to the realities of life and what they mean. With 

a proper understanding of human nature comes sympathy: to know all is to pardon 

all. " Earth " is a society novel with a society atmosphere that is conviuoing. 

BY ADELAIDE HOLT. 

OUTSIDE THE ARK. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

*.• This is an attractively told story with many outstanding features. Hugh 
I :i prominent man of letters, marries a young wife, whom he does n»t 

understand, because she is continually posing and never her natural self. She 
jealous of the beautiful but incapacitated actress, Margaret Stair, for wbuin 
li. k ,. is writing a play, and makes use of an ingenious and shady trick to spy 
ii' in her husband's motives. But lri>. the young wife, is not entirely a malignant 
fiKtiie, for her frail beauty and helplessness make a tender appeal for sympathy. 
The scene of the novel changes at times from the hub of London life to the 
peaceful quiet of a country vicarage, whithor the father of Iris— a charming 
scholar— lets fall honeyed words of wisdom and advice or gently chide* his over- 
zealous curate. The author has a strong sense of humour, as welt as a great power 
ol drama - ic i re^en'ment. 

IS 









JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 

BY ADELAIDE ROUT— continued. 

THE VALLEY OF REGRET. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

V Betty Feverell's childhood is lull ol pathos. For the best reason in ths 
world she is unable to capture the sympathy of her supposed lather, and run* 
away to make an imprudent marriage with a very charming but Tather weak young 
man who is addicted to " drink." Fastidious to a degree, this Jailing does not 
seem to spoil the gentleness and refinement of his disposition, until, enraged by an 
insult to his wife, he kills a man in a fit of alcoholic frenzy. With her husband 
sentenced to penal servitude for seven years, the problem of Betty's life is full of 
difficulty. After five years a second man, John Earle, wins her love, knowing 
little or nothing of the obstacles in the way of its fulfilment. Finally, new» 
arrives that the convict will return in a few weeks, and the story ends suddenly 
and unexpectedly. This is a delightful novel. It has incident and freshness ; and 
ths directness of the style gives the book a remarkably artistic impression of life. 

BY MRS. JOHN LANE. 

KITWYK. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

A Story with numerous illustrations by Howard Pyle 
Albert Sterner and George Wharton Edwards. 

Times— " Mr?. Lane has succeeded to admiration, and chiefly by reason of 
being so much interested in her theme that she makes no conscious effort to 
please. . . . Everyone who seeks to be diverted will read ' Kitwyk ' for it* 
obvious qualities of entertainment." 

THE CHAMP A.GXE STANDARD. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

ifornino Post—" The author's champagne overflows with witty tayings too 
nuir.erou3 to recite." 

Pall Mall Gazette—" Mrs. Lane's papers on our social manners and foibles are 
the most entertaining, the kindest and the truest that have been offered us for a 
long time. . . . The book shows an airy philosophy that will render it of service 
to the social student." 

ACCORDING TO MARIA . Crown Svo. 6/- 

Daily Chronicle—" This delightful novel, sparkling with humour. . . . Maria's 
world is real. . . . Mrs. Lane is remarkably true to life in that world. . . . Maria 
is priceless, and Mrs. Lane is a satirist whose life may be indefatigably joyous in 
satiric art. For her eyes harvest the little absurdities, and her hand makes 
sheaves of them. . . . Thackeray might have made such sheaves if he had been 
a woman." 

BALTHASAR AND OTHER STORIES. Crown Svo. 6/- 



Translated by Mrs. JOHN Lank from the French of Anatcle France 

Daily Graphic—" The original charm and distinction of the author's style has 
survived the difficult ordeal of appearing in another language. . . . 'The Cure's 
Mignonette ' is as perfect in itself as some little delicate flower." 

TALK O THE TOWN. Crown Svo. 6/- 

•»• Mrs. John Lane's new book, " Talk of the Town," is on the same lines 
as " The Champagne Standard," that sparkling and brilliantly witty study of 
English and American life, and has the delightful and refreshing humour 
we have a right to expect of the author of " According to Maria," and that power 
of observation and keen insight into everyday life which made " The Champagns 
Standard " one of the most successful and one of the most quoted books of ths 
season, both in England and America." 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 



BY STEPHEN LEACOCK, 



Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 



3/6 net 



LITERARY LAPSES. 

Spectatoi — " This book is a happy example of the way in which the double 
life can be lived blamelessly and to the great advantage of the community. The 
book fairly entitles Mr. Leacock to be considered not only a humourist but a 
benefactor. The contents should appeal to English readers with the double virtue 
that attaches to work which is at once new and richly humorous." 



NONSENSE NOVELS. Third Edition. Crown Svo. 3/6 net 

Pall Mall Gazette—" He certainly bids fair to Tival the immortal Lewis Carroll." 

Punch—" Delightful spontaneity. There is genuine gold here on every page." 

Daily Graphic—" ' Guido, the Gimlet of Ghent" set us in a roar. His last tale. 
' The Asbestos Man,' is the best." 



SUNSHINE SKETCHES OF A LITTLE TOWN. Fourth Edition 

Crown Svo. 3/6 net 

Evening Standard—" We have never laughed more often." 

Canada—" A whole storehouse of sunshine. Of the same brand as ' Literary 
Lapses ' and ' Nonsense Novels." It is the surest recipe for enjoying a happy 
holiday." 

Daily Telegraph—" Irresistibly comical. Mr. Leacock strikes us as a sort of 
Americanised W. W. Jacobs. Like the English humorist, the Canadian one has 
a delightfully fresh and amusing way of putting tilings." 

Times — " His real hard work— for which no conceivable emolument would be 
a lit ting reward— is distilling sunshine. This new book is full of it— the sunshine 
of humour, the thin keen sunshine of irony, the mellow evening sunshine «f 
sentiment." 



BY W- J. LOCKE. 



STELLA MARIS. 



A Novel. 



Crown S\ o. 



6/- 



With 8 Illustrations by Frank Wiles. 



•.* Mr. Locke's astonishing fertility of invention has never yet been seen to 
so great advantage as in this story. It has all the picturesque bravery of tho 
" Beloved Vagabond," all the tender sentiment of " Marcus Ordeyne," all tho 
quixotic spirit of " Clementina Wing." And yet it is like none of these. Infinitely 
tender, infinitely impressive, is the story of Stell.i Mari>, tho winder child, who 
has never moved from her couch, who receives her impressions of the outside 
world from her gentle spirit and the gold-clad tales of her loving friends and the 
secrets of the seagulls that flit so near her window. And then Stella, grown to 
a woman, recovers ; to take her place, not in the world of beauty she had pictured 
1 ho stillness of her couch, but the world of men and women. 

I i^e the reader falls under a spell. For all its wistful delicacy 

of texture Mr. Locke's humanity, broad and strong, vibrates with terror just as 
it eoothee with its sense of peace. This is Mr. Locke's finest achievement. 

\2 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 

BY W. J. LOCKE— continued. 

THE JOYOUS ADVENTURES OF ARISTIDE PUJOL. A Novel 

Crown 8vo. 6/— 

With Illustrations by Alec Bull. 

Daily Telegraph— " In ' Aristide Pujol' Mr. VV. J. Locke has given life to one 
o! the most fascinating creatures in modern fiction." 

Morning Post—" We do not know when Mr. Locke was more happily inspired.'' 
•DERELICTS. Crown 8vo. 61- 



Daily Chronicle — " Mr. Locke tells his story in a very true, very moving, and 
very noble book. If anyone can read the last chapter with dry eyes we shall be 
surprised. ' Derelicts ' is an impressive and important book." 

Morning Post—" Mr. Locke's clever novel. One of the most effective stories 
that have appeared for some time past." 

*IDOLS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Daily Telegraph—" A brilliantly written and eminently readable book." 
Daily Mail—" One of the most distinguished novels of the present book season." 
Punch— " The Baron strongly recommends Mr. W. J. Locke's 'Idols' to all 

novel readers. It is well written. No time is wasted in superfluous descriptions; 

there is no fine writing for fine writing's sake, but the story will absorb the 

reader. . . . It is a novel that, once taken up, cannot willingly be put down. 

until finished." 

*A STUDY IN SHADOWS. Crown 8vo. 61- 

Daily Chronic!*—" Mr. Locke has achieved a distinct success in this novel. 
He has struck many emotional chords and struck them all with a firm sure hand." 

Athenceum— " The character-drawing is distinctly good. All the personages 
stand well defined with strongly marked individualities." 

*THE WHITE DOVE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Times—" An interesting story, full of dramatic scenes." 

Morning Post—" An interesting story. The characters are strongly conceived 
and vividly presented, and the dramatic moments are powerfully realised." 

*THE USURPER. Crown Svo. 6/- 

World—" This quite uncommon novel." 

Spectator—" Character and plot are most ingeniously wrought, and the conclu- 
sion, when it comes, is fully satisfying." 
Times—" An impressive romance." 

THE DEMAGOGUE AND LADY PHAVRE . Cr. Svo. 3/6 

*AT THE GATE OF SAMARIA. Crown Svo. 6/- 

Daily Chronicl*—" The heroine of this clever story attracts our interest. . . . 
She is a clever and subtle study. . . . We congratulate Mr. Locke." 

Morning Post—" A cleverly written tale . . . the author's pictures «J 
Bohemian life axe bright and graphic." 

•3 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 

BY W. J. LOCKE— continued. 

* WHERE LOVE IS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 



Mr. James Douglas, in Star—" I do not often praise a book with thi» 
exultant gusto, but it gave me eo much spiritual stimulus and moral pleasure thai 
I feel bound to snatch the additional delight of commending it to those readers 
who long for a novel that is a piece of literature as well as a piece ot life." 

Standard—" A brilliant piece of work." 

Times— " The author has the true gift; his people are alive." 

*THE MORALS OF MARCUS ORDEYNE. Cr. 8vo. 6/- 

Ur. C. K. Shorter, in Sphere—" A book which has just delighted my heart." 
Truth—" Mr. Locke's new novel is one of the best artistic pieces of work I 

have met with for many a day." 

Daily Chronic!*—" Mr. Locke succeeds, indeed, in every crisis of this most 

original story." 

THE BELOVED VAGABOND . Crown Svo. 6/- 

Truth — " Certainly it is the most brilliant piece of work Mr. Locke has done." 
Evening Standard—" Mr. Locke can hardly fail to write beautifully. He has 
cot failed now." 

SIMON THE JESTER. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

*.* The central figure of Mr. Locke's new novel is one Simon de G«x, M.P., 
who having met life with a gay and serene philosophy is suddenly called upon te 
face Death. This he does gallantly and jests at Death until he discovers to his 
confusion that Destiny is a greater jester than he. Eventually by surrendering 
his claims he attains salvation. The heroine is Lola Brandt, an ex-trainer ot 
animals, and an important figure in the story is a dwarf, Professor Anastasius 
Papadopoulas, who has a troupe of performing cats. The scene of the novel is 
laid in London and Algiers. 

THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA WING. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Obferve r— " Mr. Locke's best. . . . Clementina Wing and Dr. Quixtus are the 
two most adorable characters that Mr. Locke has ever brought together in holy 
wedlock. The phrases are Locke's most debonairly witty." 

*Also Bound in Cloth with Illustrated paper wrapper i/- net. 
BY LAURA BOGUE LUFFMAN. 

A OrESTlON OF LATITCPE. Crown Svo. 6/- 

*.* The author of "A Question of Latitude" takes an English girl from the 
•omfortablo si ry house in the Old Country, and places her in a 

rough and I i»dj environment in Australia. The girl finds her standard of values 
Undergoing a change. She learns to distinguish between English snobbery and 
Colonial simplicity and manliness, she also learns how to wash up dishes, and that 
Australia is not all kangaroos and giant cricketers. The atmosphere ofthestoryis 
convincing, and there are many vivid pictures of Melbourne life. The book depict* 
Australia as it really is, its strength and its weakness, its refinement and !%■ 
vulgarity. 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
BY A. NEIL LYONS. 

ARTHURS Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Times— " Not only a very entertaining and amusing work, but a very kindly 
and tolerant work also. Incidentally the work is a mirror of a phase of the low 
London life of to-day as true as certain of Hogarth's transcripts in the eighteenth 
century, and far more tender." 

Punch—" Mr. Neil Lyons seems to get right at the heart of things, and I 
oonfess to a real admiration, for this philosopher of the coffee-stall." 

SIXPENNY PIECES. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Pall Mali Gazette—" It is pure, fast, sheer life, salted with a sense of humour." 

Evening Standard—" ' Sixpenny Pieces' is as good as 'Arthur's,' and that 

is saying a great deal. A book full of laughter and tears and hits innumerable 

that one feeb impeLied to read aloud. ' Sixpenny Pieces ' would be very hard 

indeed to beat." 

COTTAGE PIE. Crown Svo. 6/- 

*«* Mr. Lyons' former books dealt with East London characters. Now he 
draws the varying types of a small country community. The humour of the 
whole is enforced, inimitable, and there is the underlying note of tragedy never 
wholly absent from the lives of the poorer classes. 

W. J. Locke, in Outlook—" . . . That book of beauty, truth, and artistry." 
Edwin Pugh, in Outlook—" I have never missed an opportunity to express my 
admiration for his inimitable talent." 

CLARA; SOME CHAPTERS IN THE LIFE OF A HUSSY. 

Crown Svo. 6/- 

\lonth*8ter Guardian—" Mr. Lyons writes about life in the slums with a 
great deal of penetrative sympathy for human nature as it shows itself." 

Daily Graphic— ■" Clara is a type, the real thing, and we know of no-one else 
who could have created her." 

BY ALLAN McAULAY. 

THE EAGLE'S NEST, Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Athenmum—" We should describe the book as a brilliant tour de force. . . 
The story is spirited and interesting. The love interest also is excellent and 
pathetic." 

Spectator—" This is one of those illuminating and stimulating romances which 
set people reading history." 

BEGGARS AND SORNERS . Crown Svo. 6/- 

•«• " Beggars and Sorners " is a novel which deals with what may be called the 
back-wash of the " Forty Five." It commemorates the dfbdcli of a great romance, 
and in describing the lives, the struggles, the make-shifts, the intrigues and the 
crimes of a small circle of Jacobite exiles in Holland between the years 1745 and 
1T50, it strives to show the pathos of history while revealing its 6eamy side. The 
oharacters are imaginary (with one important exception); they have imaginary 
names and commit imaginary actions, for the story is not confined to, but only 
(ounded on, fact. If some readers of Jacobite history find among their number 
some old friends with new faces, this need not detract from the interest of other* 
to whom all the characters are new— actors in a drama drawn from the novelist'* 
fancy. To English readers it may have to be explained what the word Sorner 
means— but the story makes this sufficiently plain. The novel is of a lighter 
character than those previously written by this author, and it is not without 
sensational elements. In spite of adverse circumstances, grim characters, and all 
the sorrows of a lost cause, it contrives to end happily. The scene is laid in 
Amsterdam. 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
BY KARIN MICHAELIS. 

THE DANGEROUS AGE. Crown 8vo. 3/6 net 

Translated from the Danish. 

This book has been:— 

(1) Sold to the extent of 100 editions in 6 months in Germany. 

(2) Translated into 11 languages. 

(3) Translated into French by the great Marcel Pbevost. who says in his 
introduction to the English Edition—" It is the feminine soul, and the femininal 
soul of all that is revealed in these extraordinary documents. Here indeed is a 
strange book." 

ELSIE LINDTXER. A Sequel. Crown 8vo. 3 6 net 

THE GOVERNOR. Crown Svo. 36 net 

BY IRENE MILLER. 

SEKHET. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

•«• Sekhet deals with that topic of unwearying interest to readers of romance— 
the adventures and struggles of an exquisitely lovely woman upon whom the 
hand of Fate is laid heavily. From the days of her beautiful girlhood when her 
Guardian himself proves her tempter. Evarne has good reason to believe hersell 
one of the victims of " Sekhet," the ancient Egyptian Goddess of Love and Cru< 
Even though the main theme of this story is the tragic outcome of a too passionate 
love, portions of Evarne's experiences, such as those with the bogus Theatrical 
manager, are full of humour, and throughout there is a relieving lightness of touch 
in the writing. The book grows in interest as it proceeds, and the final portion— 
a long duel between Evarne and the evil genius of her life— is dramatic in the 
extreme. The result remains uncertain till the last page or two, and though 
decidedly ghastly is entirely original and unforeseen. 

BY HECTOR H. MUNRO (Said) 

THE rN'Kl'ARABLE BASSINGTON. A Novel. Crown Svo. 6/- 

*,• The keynote of this book is struck in an early chapter where one of the 
school-masters at the school " Com us Bassington " is sent to, remarks. "There 
are just a few, and Bassington is ono of them, who are Nature's highly-finished 
products. They are in the schoolboy stage, and we who are supposed to be 
moulding raw material are quite helpless when we come in contact with them." 
" Com us Bassington" has no father, and a mother of a very uncommon type. 
r leaving school he runs loose f»r a time in London, bear-led a little by a 
clever young M.P., falls in love with the most wonderful match of the set 

.!> debt, and even when at the absolute end of his tether fascinates 
the reader with his store of spontaneous gaiety. 

Observer \\Yn\i; < OULD DINE out loi a year and pass for a wit after 
reii'i book 1! onlj the hosts d promise not to read it 

■too. This is one of the wittiest books, not only of the year, bat of the decade. 
It is not even only wit'y; it has a deepening humanity towards the end that 
comes to a climax of really disturbing pathos. It will be a dull public that can 
pass over such a book as this." 

10 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 



BY HECTOR H. MUNRO (Said)— continued. 

THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVIS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Bnglith Rovi#to — " A oollection of short stories printed from various news- 
papers and me azines. Every one was worth reprinting, and some, notably ' The 
Great Weep' aLd ' Sredni Vashtar,' are very clever indeed. Mr. Munro conceals 
pills of cleverness in a sugar-coating of wit— real wit— and the result i3 a chuckle 
provoking book, except on the occasions when its author was touched to grim 
realism and wrote his mood." 

BY LOUIS N. PARKER 

POMANDER WALK. Crown Svo. 6/- 

Author of "Rosemary," etc. With numerous Illustrations by 

J. Scott Williams. 

%* Novelised by the author of the delightful play of the same name, which has 
met with so much success both in England and the United States. A picture of 
one of the quaint out-of-the-way corners of London of the olden times. The volume 
contains a tinted frontispiece and title page, and numerous other charming 
illustrations. 

Daily Telegraph — " Mr. Parker has turned a delightful comedy into a still 
more delightful story ... in every way a charming, happy romance, beautifully 
told and irresistibly sentimental.'' 

BY JOHN PARKINSON. 

OTHER LAWS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

%• This book is distinctly the outcome of the latest " intellectual " movement 
in novel-writing. The hero, Hawkins, is an African explorer. During a holiday in 
England he falls in love with and captivates Caroline Blackwood, a woman of 
strong personality. Circumstances prevent him from entering upon a formal 
engagement, and he departs again for Africa, without proposing marriage. Caroline 
and Hawkins correspond fitfully for some time; but then a startling combination 
of events causes Hawkins to penetrate further and further into the interior; a 
native village is burned, and a report, based apparently upon fact, is circulated 
of his death. Not until seven months have elapsed is he able to return to England. 
He finds Caroline married to a man who has found her money useful. Here the 
story, strong and moving throughout, moves steadily to the close, describing 
delicately and analytically the soul conflict of a man and a woman, sundered and 
separate, with a yearning for each other's love. 

BY F. INGLIS POWELL. 

THE SNAKE. Crown Svo. 6/- 

*,* For countless generations the soul of Peasant India has been steeped in 
weird, fantastic superstitions, some grotesque, some loathsome, all strangely 
fascinating. Though the main theme of this story is the unhappy love of a 
beautiful, evil woman, and the brutal lrankness with which she writes of her 
uncontrolled passions in her diary, yet the -.vhole tale hinges on some of the most 
gruesome super-ti'ious of the East. This book should appeal to all who take an 
interest in the strange beliefs — not ..' the educated classes— but ol the simple- 
minded and ignorant peasants of Behar. 

•7 



JO HN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 

EY F. J. RANDALL. 

LOVE AND THE IRONMONGER. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Dailv Telegraph—" Since the gay days when Mr. F. An.-tey m writing his 
inimitable series of humourous novels, we can recall no book ol purely farcical 
imagination so full of excellent entertainment as this first effort of Mr. F. J. 
Randall. ' Love and the Ironmonger ' is certain to be a success." 

Timts— " ks diverting a comedy of errors as the reader is likely to meet with 
lor a considerable time." 

Mr. Clement Shorter, in The Sphere—" I thank the author for a delightful 
hour's amusement." 

THE BERMOXDSEY TWIN. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

*,* A humourous story of the reappearance of a twin brother, who is supposed 
to be dead. Prosperous, respected, and well satisfied with himself, a suburban 
tradesman is contemplating matrimony and the realisation of his ambitions, when 
the twin brother appears. He is thrown into a state of panic, for not only is 
his fortune thus Teduced by half and his marriage prospects endangered, but the 
twin is to all appearance a disreputable character, whose existence threatens to 
mar the tradesman's respectability. The good man's attempts to hide this 
undesirable brother make amusing reading, and the pranks of the unwelcome twin 
serve to complicate matters, for the brothers are so much alike as to be easily 
mistaken one for the other. The new arrival is really a man of integrity, his 
depravity being assumed as a joke. Having played the farce out he is about to 
" confess," when the tables are turned upon him by accident, and he is forced to 
pay heavily for his fun in a series of humiliating adventures. 

BY HUGH DE SELINCOURT. 

A FAIR HOUSE. Crown Svo. 6/- 

Author of "A Boy's Marriage," "The Way Things Happen, ' "The 

Strongest Plume." 

•»* The outstanding idea of Mr. H :gh de Stflincourt's new novel is the 
possibility of absolute love and confidence between father and daughter. It fs the 
main thread of the story and all the incidents are subordinated to it. The book 
. into three sections. The first opens with the birth of the daughter 
and the death of the mother, the father's utter despair, until an idea comes to 
him, to make the child his masterpiece and to see how much one human being can 
mean to another. The second deals with the growth of the child from five to 

mi. In the third, the girl becomes a woman. Her first experience of love is 
unhappy and threatens to destroy the confidence between father and daughter. 
Hut the is enabled to throw herself heart and soul into stage-work, and in the 
excitement of work she finds herself again. And the end of the book leaves her 
with the knowledge that one love does not necessarily displace another, and that a 
second, happier love has only strengthened the bond between her father and 
herself. 

BY ESSEX SMITH 

WIND ON THE HEATH. Crown Svo. 6/- 

*.* No paragraph or des.-riptive note can give an idea ol tlisi Essex Smith's 
story. It depends upon style, psychology, woodland atmosphere, and more than 
anything obe upon originality of outlook. It will make a direct appeal to that 
public that has a taste for the unusual. There is underlying it a tone of passion, 
the passion of a fantastic Richard Jefferies. 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
BY GEORGE STEYENSON. 

TOPHAM'S FOLLY. A Novel. Crcwn 8vo. 6/- 

•,* This novel has the curious charm of a tale that might be told to you by 
your own mother or grandmother, a homeliness and simplicity which is never 
overweighted by the writer's very considerable skill in presenting his story. The 
scene is laid in a small town in the West Riding of Yorkshire— fortunately there 
is practically no dialect. What the narra'or presents to us is supposed to be the 
incidents of the lives of various members of the Topham family and their kinsfolk 
seen largely through the eyes of Mary Ann. Mary Ann's mother was a woman 
of good family, who in her early teens eloped with her father's groom, and although 
in consequence of her act she endured many hardships, 6he never repented it. 
When Mary Ann was just growing into young womanhood she discovered an 
advertisement in a newspaper enquiring for the heirs of Thomas Morton Bagster, 
and pointed it out to her mother. They consult Mr. Topham, the lawyer, who 
undertakes to make enquiries for them. Topham is at this time very short of 
cash, and cannot complete a grand new house for himself and his family, over 
whom he rules as a petty domestic tyrant. From now on the financial fortunes 
of the Tophams prosper, and the house, which has begun to be known as 
" Topham 's Folly," is completed and occur ■■cd. And in this tempestuous household 
I Ann as a humble servant— a kind of angel in a print dress. When the 
youngest boy is about twenty he suddenly discovers by the purest chanc* the 
whole fraud upon which the family fortunes have been erected. There aTe 
innumerable side issues, every one of them fascinatingly human and delightfully 
told. 

BY HERMANN SUDERMANN. 

THE SONG OF SOXGS (Das Hohe Lied). Crown 8vo. 6/- 

A new Translation by Beatrice Marshall. 

*,* The first English translation of this work, published under the title of 
" The Song of Songs," proved to be too American for the taste of the British 
public, and was eventually dropped. But it was felt that the work was too great 
an one not to be represented in the English language, and accordingly this entirely 
new translation has been made, which it is hoped will fairly represent the wonderful 
original without unduly offending the susceptibilities of the British public. In 
this colossal novel. Sudermann has made a searching and masterly study of feminine 
frailty. The character and career of Lily Czepanck are depicted with such pitiless 
power and unerring psychological insight, that the portrait would be almost 
intolerable in ite realism, if it were not for its touches of humour and tenderness. 
In these pages too may be found some of Sudermann's most characteristic and 
charming passages descriptive of country life, while his pictures of Berlin Society 
in all its phases, the glimpses he gives us into what goes on beneath the tinsel, 
spick and span surface of the great modern capital are drawn with Tolstoyan 
vigour and colour. 

THE INDIAN LILY and other Stories. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Translated by Ludwig Lewisohn, M.A. 

•«• A series of characteristic stories by the great German Master which exhibit 
his art in every phase. Sudermann is chiefly known in this country as a writer 
of novels and of plays, but this volume will place him in a new light for English 
readers— as a writer of short stories of the first rank. In fact he may with justice 
be termed the German Maupassant. 

19 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
BY SIR FRANK SWETTENHAM. 

ISO AND PERHAPS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Author of " Unaddressed Letters," "British Malaya," etc. 

j', n)r h—' ' Dodo Islard ' contains a long quotation cl such genuine humour 
that to have rescued it is an achievement in itself. Although in this sketch Sir 
Frank apologises almost humbly for mentioning history in ' Tamarin ' and ' lie de 
la Passe,' he becomes an historian unashamed, and a most attractive one. ' The 
Incarnadine " provided me with a more grizzly sensation than I have been 
able to conjure up for many years, and ' Disbelief in the Unseen ' ought to be 
read aloud daily to those obnoxious people who cannot bring themselves to believe 
ia anything that does not take place within a stone's throw of their parish pump." 

BY MARCELLE TINAYRE. 

THE SHADOW OF LOVE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Translated from the French by A. R. Allinson, M.A. 
*»* Of the newer French novelists Marcelle Tinayre is perhaps the best known. 
Her work has been crowned by the French Academy, and she pes .-esses a very large 
public in Europe and in America. The stor; deals with a girl's love and a heroic 
sacrifice dictated by love. " The Shadow of Love " is a book of extraordinary 
power, uncompromising in its delineation of certain hard, some might 6ay repulsive 
facts of life, yet instinct all through with an exquisitely tender and beautiful 
passion of human interest and human sympathy. 

BY GEORGE YANE. 

THE LIFTED LATCH: A Novel. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

•.• " The Lifted Latch " is a story of 6trong situations. The hero is the son 
of an Italian attache and a girl of whose frailty he takes advantage. The mother 
decides to hide her shame by handing the child over to a foster-mother together 
with a sum of money for its maintenance. When the boy grows up he becomes by 
a curious sequence of events and circumstances reunited to his parents, and a 
series of plots and counterplots follow. The scene is set principally in diplomatic 
circles in Rome. 

Till: LOVE DREAM. Crown 6/- 

•.* In this book we meet some B I old lineage and considerable wealth 

settled in a gloomy manor in England. The family consists of an aged and partly 
demented Fi . bseated bj a mo for revenge, her grandson, an attache 

of the Italian Em I urt of St. James, and his half i I ■■mating, 

rwaxd nnd fickle creature. This girl captures tho heart of Lord Drury— 
whose father murdered the Principe Baldassare di M of t he old Princess. 

The con -een these Southerners and then I neighbours is strongly 

accentuated. Don Siorza and his half sister Donna Giacinta are no mere puppets 
witii Italian oann ive the reader the impression of being people the author 

has met and drawn from life. 1 iv in which they are involved strikes one 

as Inevitable. I • rd Drury, in his utter inexperience, has taken a beautiful 

c ) l; : starts in the pursuit of happiness when it was all the 

i interest never flags to the last page when the hero's 

troubles come to an end. The glimpses of diplomatic circles in London are 
obviously not written by an outsider. 

X rll ih _•■ w-11 constructed . . . thrilling scenes and situations fit nafirally 
and consequently into the framework of its elaborate plot." 

20 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
BY CLARA YIEBIG. 

THE SOX OF HIS MOTHER. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Translated by H. Raahauge. 

*»* When Paul and Kate Schlieben leave their home in Berlin and start on 
their wanderings, they have no idea of how momentous an occasion this will be for 
them— and another. A devoted couple, there is one thing wanting to complete 
their happiness, and Kate at least can never forget that they are childless. After- 
wards, when they have adopted a son, she learns too late that all the care that 
ha? been expended on him is a poor substitute for the ties that bind mother and 
child, and is forced to acknowledge that the son of her adoption is and alway* 
must be the eon of his mother. 

ABSOLUTION. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Times—" There is considerable strength in ' Absolution.' ... As a realistic 
study the story has much merit." 

Daihj Trlryniph— " The tale is powerfully told ... the tale will prove 
absorbing with it- minute characterisation and real passion." 

OUR DAILY BREAD. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Atheneeum—" The story is not only of great human interest, but also extremely 
valuable as a study of the conditions in which a large section of the poorer classes 
and small tradespeople of German cities spend their lives. Clara Viebig manipu- 
late* her material with extraordinary vigour. . . . Her characters are alive." 

B\ H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON. 

THE TOMBOY AXD OTHERS. Crown 8vo. 3/6 net 

Author of "Galloping Dick." 

BY H. G. WELLS. 

THE NEW MACHIAVELLI. Crown 8vo. 6/ 

Also Bound in Cloth with Illustrated paper wrapper 1/- net. 

•»• The Nov Machiatelli is the longest, most carefully and elaborately 
constructed and most ambitious novel that Mr. Wells has yet written. It combines 
much of the breadth and variety of Toiio-Bungay with that concentiated unity 
cf effect which 0V« and Mr. Lewisham, artistically, his most satisfactory 

work. It has the autobiographical form which he has already used so effectively 
in Tono-Bungny. but this time the hero who surveys and experiences the 
vicissitudes of our modern world is not a commercial adventurer but a Trinity man, 
who directs very treat ambitions and abilities to political ends who is wrecked 
in mid-career and driven into exile by a passionate love adventure. From his 
retirement in Italy he reviews and discusses his broken life. The story he tells 
opens amidst suburban surroundings, and the first book gives a series of vivid 
impressions and criticisms ol English public school and university life. Thence, 
after an episode in ire, it passes to the world of Westminster and the 

country house. The narrator recounts his relations with the varying groups and 
forces in contemporary parliamentary life and political journalism in London, 
and the growth and changes in his own opinion until the emotions of his passionate 
entanglement sweep the story away to its sombre and touching conclusion. In 
addition to the full-length portraits of Margaret, the neglected wife— perhaps the 
finest of Mr. Wells's feminine creations— Isabel Rivers, and Remington, there 
are scores of sharply differentiated characters, sketched and vignetted: Remington 
the father, Britten, the intriguing Baileys, the members of the Pentagram Circle, 
Codger the typical don, and Mr. Eve-sham the Conservative leader. It is a book 
to read and read again, and an enduring picture of contemporary English conditions. 

21 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
BY MARGARET WESTRUP. 

ELIZABETHS CHILDREN Crown Svo. 6/- 

Daily Telegraph—" The book is charming . . . the author . . . bu a delicate 
fanciful touch, a charming imagination . . . skilfully suggest* character and 
moods . . . is bright and witty, and write* about children with exquisite know- 
ledge and sympathy." 

HELEN ALLISTON. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Pall Mall Gazette—" The book has viTacity, fluency, colour, more than a touch 
ol poetry and passion. . . . We shall look forward with Interest to future work 
by the author of ' Helen A 11 is ton.' " 

THE YOUNG O'BRIENS. Crown Svo. 6/- 

Saturday Review—" Delightful . . . tb* author treats them (the Young 
O'Briens) very skilfully." 

PHYLLIS IN MIDDLEWYCH. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

•»* It is some years 6inoe " Elizabeth's Children " was published and 
immediately ran through edition after edition. In her new book the author shows 
that same sympathetic touch and 6ure knowledge of the real child that stamped 
" Elizabeth's Children " as a live book. The doings and misdoings of Phylli6 are 
told with ujiders'anding and with numerous and deft touches the little 
idiosyncracies of the Middlewichites are admirably hit off. 

ELIZABETH IN RETREAT. Crown Svo. 6/ 

Ladim' Fu'd -" Margaret Westrup has never written a more interesting noyel 
than ' Elizabeth in Retreat.' " 

Punch—" All the superstition having long ago been used up and squandered 
among the undeserving, it is difficult to hit upon such an expression of praise a« 
the reading public will take without a ptnofa of salt. But the character of Kvelyn 
Wmkfie'.d is a stroke of genius. Believe me or not as you please, but this is the 
be»t novel of the year that has come my way." 



BY EDITH WHERRY. 

THE RED LANTERN : Being the Story ol i lie Goddess of the 

Red Light. Crown Svo 6/- 

•»• The most exciting novel of recent years. It deals with the Rebellion in 
China and is of extraordinary anticipation. Sun Yat Sen is vividly depicted under 
the name of Sam Wang iu Miss Edith Wherry's startling novel. 

12 



JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 

BY IDA WILD. 

ZOE THE DANCER. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

».• The scene of the story is laid in Brussels, where Zoe, little more than a 
child, shows her remarkable aptitude for dancing. Her wonderful yellow hair 
secures for her a position in a hairdresser's window to the constant delight of the 
good citizens. Chance leads to her adoption of dancing as a profession. The book 
is full of comedy and tragedy, and yet it is the charm and originality of th« telling 
which holds the reader throughout." 

BY M. P. WILLCOCKS. 

WIDDICOMBE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Erening Standard—" Wonderfully alive and pulsating with a curious fervour 
which brings round the reader the very atmosphere which the author describes. 
... A fine, rather unusual novel. . . . There are some striking studies of women.' 

Truth—" A first novel ol most unusual promise." 

Qtietn—" An unusually clever book." 

THE WIXGLESS VICTORY. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Tim*s—" Such books are worth keeping on the shelves even by the classics, 
for they are painted in colours that do not fade." 

Daily Telegraph—" A novel of such power as should win for ita author a 
position in the front rank of contemporary writers of fiction." 

A MAN OF GENIUS . Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Daily Telegraph—" ' Widdicombe ' was good, and ' The Wingless Victory ' 
was perhaps better, but in ' A Man of Genius ' the author has given us something 
that should assure her place in the front rank of our living novelists. In this 
latest novel there is so much of character, so much of incident, and to its writing 
has gone so much insight and observation that it is not easy to praise it without 
.teeming exaggeration." 

Punrh— " There is no excuse for not reading ' A Man of Genius' and making 
a short stay in the ' seventh Devon of delight.' " 

Globe—" Exquisite." 

THE WAY UP. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Daily Mail—" It i< admirably done. . . . Evidently worth reading, full of 
extremely clever characterisation, of sharp and picturesque contrasts in personality 
...a merciless exhibition of almost all the follies known as modern thouuht." 

WINGS OF DESIRE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Daily Telegraph—" Excellent as are her earlier novels. Miss Willcocks has 
given us nothing else so good, so full at once of character, thought, and observa- 
tion." 

Obtirver— " All these are haunting people, memorable and uncommon." 



J OHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 

BY F E. MILLS YOUNG- 

MYLES CALTHORPE, I.D.B. A Novel. Crown 8vo. 

%• Miss Young again take3 South Africa as a background lor her vigorous 
work. Myles Calthorpe is a man ol original will power and somewhat perverted 

•lgth of oharac'.er. which is apt to land him into quixotic difficulties. To him 
is applied the title of I.D.B., the South African abbreviation for Illicit Diamond 
Buyer. Nevertheless he is not guilty of the crime, but is trapped unconsciously 
into acting as go-between. Caught red-handed by the Government authorities, he 
is sentenced to three years' imprisonment because he will not purchase his 
acquittal by throwing a smirch on the good fame of the brother of the lady who 
has won his heart. After serving his unjust sentence Myles is face to face with 
ruin, and how eventually he emerges from the highways and byeways of disgTace 
clean-hearted and with his hands stained by nothing more shameful than hard 
work, forms the subject of a picturesque and life-pulsating romance. 

GRIT LAWLESS. A Novel. Crown 8vo. 6/- 

Sunday Times- ■" Ore of the most thrilling stories of adventure we have come 
across this season . . . lour excellent studies of character ... all intere • 
persona palpitating alive." 

Westminster Gazette—" Vigorous and full of exciting incident." 

SAM'S KID- 
MISTAKEN MARRIAGE. 
CHIP. 
ATONEMENT. 



A 


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Crown Svo. 


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POPULAR CHEAP EDITIONS. 

Bound in Cloth with Illustrated Coloured Wrapper. 
Crown Svo. l/- net. 

THE NEW MACHIAVELLI. By H. G. Wells. 

NOVELS BY W. J. LOCKE. 

DERELICTS. 

THE USURPER. 

WHERE LOVE IS. 

THE WHITE DOVE. 

THE MORALS OF MARCUS ORDEYNE. 

\T THE GATE OV SAMARIA. 

IDOLS. 

A STUDY IN SHADOWS. 

-4 



MM 20 1914 



